f- 


' 


MAY; 


OR, 


GRANDPAPA'S      PET 


BY 

MRS.  F.  B.  SMITH, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  FAJfFAN  STORIES,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 
D.   LOTHROP    AND    COMPANY 

FRANKLIN     STREET 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873, 

BY  D.   LOTHROP  &  CO. 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER    I. 

MAY   AND   HER    GRANDPAPA, 5 

CHAPTER    II. 

BLACKBF.RRYING, 22 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE  COUSIN'S  VISIT, 35 

CHAPTER    IV. 

GRANDPAPA'S   LESSION 46 

CHAPTER   V. 

DINNER  AT  GRANDPAPA'S, 58 

CHAPTER   VI.  . 

THE  LUMBER-YARD, 66 

CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL, 76 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  PURCHASES,  .    86 


2004084 


4  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

OLD  ROAN  ..........  •      .      91 

CHAPTER   X. 

GRANDMAMMA'S  TALK.    .        .  ,      •  .      97 

CHAPTER  XI. 

ROB,    ........        .....     i»S 

CHAPTER  XII. 

•H-ORD'S  DAY  MORNING,     .        ......    ua 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
THE  SUNDAY  SCHOOL,     .......    m 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  HOUSE   OF  GOD,        .......    125 

CHAPTER   XV. 

HELPING  DORCAS  .........     138 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

VISIT    TO    SALLY   FAGAN  .......     150 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

GRANDPAPA'S  SICKNESS  .......    159 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  WALK  TO  THE  HILL,      ......     i6j 


MAY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MAY   AND    HER   GRANDPAPA. 


"  Yes,  indeed,  grandpapa  !" 

"  Well,  run,  get  your  bonnet."  Little 
May  gave  a  hop  skip  and  jump  up  the 
portico  steps,  through  the  long  north 
entry  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Please  reach  it  for  me,"  she  said  to 
Dorcas,  as  she  pointed  to  the  clean,  white 
sun-bonnet  that  hung  upon  a  high  nail. 

Dorcas  was  baking.  She  stood  by  the 
table  rolling  dough,  and  cutting  long  nar- 
row strips,  which  she  twisted  and  put  to- 
gether and  laid  aside  to  fry. 

She  was  half  Indian,  and  was  queenly  in 
her  figure.  May  thought  her  splendid  in 


0  MAY. 

her  clean  print  gown  and  checked  apron, 
and  her  head  covered  with  a  bright 
kerchief,  tastefully  arranged  turban  fash- 
ion. 

"  Making  doughnuts,  eh  ?  I  believe  I'd 
almost  rather  stay  and  help  you,"  said 
May,  thinking  of  the  good  times  she  had 
often  had,  when  Dorcas  allowed  her  to 
bring  her  little  rolling-pin,  and  occupy  one 
corner  of  the  table. 

"Another  day, —  grandpa's  waiting  now," 
said  Dorcas,  handing  the  child's  bonnet  as 
she  heard  a  call  from  the  north  door. 
"  Somebody's  sick,  you  know,  and  'twont 
do  to  loiter." 

May  only  stopped  to  kiss  her  grand- 
mother good-bye,  as  she  sat  sewing  in  the 
west  parlor,  and  to  let  her  know  where 
she  was  going. 

"Grandpapa"  was  the  village  doctor. 
He  carried  a  blessing  every  where.  Even 
when  God  denied  healing  through  his 


MAT  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  1 

means,  the  people  felt  that  all  that  human 
skill  could  do  had  been  done,  and  they 
bowed  to  the  Almighty  will,  and  still  bles- 
sed the  kind  hand  that  had  so  faithfully 
ministered  to  the  sick  and  dying. 

May  got  into  the  old-fashioned  chaise 
that  stood  by  her  grandfather's  gate.  The 
square  medicine  trunk  was  on  the  seat, 
but  grandpapa  put  it  down  at  his  feet,  to 
make  room. 

Roan  pricked  up  his  ears,  and  started 
off  at  a  brisk  pace.  He  was  a  spotted  bay. 

"  Whoa !  I've  forgotten  my  specs,"  said 
the  doctor.  "  They're  on  the  entry  table  ; 
can  you  hold  the  horse,  while  I  get  them  ? " 

"  Let  me  go ;  I'll  be  back  in  half  a 
minute,"  and  before  grandpapa  had  time 
to  wink,  almost,  the  little  girl  was  out  and 
back  again  with  the  silver-bowed  glasses 
in  her  hand. 

"That's  what  comes  of  having  a  dear 
tittle  maid  to  wait  on  me,"  said  the  doctor. 


8  MAY. 


"  'Tis  a  great  saving  to  my  old  limbs  ; 
now,  Roan,  get  up ! " 

"  How  fat  he  is,  grandpapa." 

"  Yes,  he  feels  his  oats,  too,  this  morning, 
and  is  brisk,  for  a  wonden  Roan  is  get- 
ting old  like  his  master ;  he  can  not  do 
such  active  service  as  he  used  to." 

May  looked  up  at  the  fresh  face  beside 
her.  It  did  not  seem  old  to  her.  There 
was  not  a  wrinkle  upon  the  brow,  and  the 
cheeks  were  ruddy  and  the  eyes  sparkling. 
A  life  of  temperance  and  cheerfulness  had 
preserved  it  from  furrows,  and  other  marks 
of  decay.  "  I  hope  I'll  be  old,  too,  one  of 
these  days,"  she  said. 

"  Better  put.  it  off  as  long  as  you  can  ; 
it  will  come  soon  enough.  Little  children 
are  nearest  God  and  heaven." 

May  did  not  answer  at  once,  she  seemed 
to  be  thinking ;  then  she  said,  "  Old  people 
are  the  nearest,  'cause  its  almost  time  for 
them  to  die." 


MAT  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  9 

Grandpapa  whipped  up  the  horse  ;  he 
did  not  quite  like  the  suggestion.  He  was 
not  ready  for  such  an  event  as  death. 
Although  he  had  seen  so  many  breathe 
their  last,  he  thought  very  little  of  his  own 
time  to  come. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ? "  asked    May. 

"Down  to  the  Pines,  I'm  going.  I 
think  I'll  leave  you  at  the  old  Glebe,  to 
amuse  yourself  till  I  come  for  you.  You 
can  go  black-berrying,  if  you  like." 

The  child  was  accustomed  to  driving 
about  the  country  with  her  grandfather. 
She  didn't  mind  being  dropped  here  and 
there  at  his  convenience.  She  always 
managed  to  have  such  nice  times,  that  his 
absence  seemed  short. 

This  July  day  was  very  warm  ;  but  the 
air  fanned  little  May  pleasantly  as  the 
chaise  moved  on,  and  she  did  not  mind 
the  heat.  The  farmers  were  making  hay, 
all  along  the  road.  Some  were  tossing 


10  MAT. 

the  newly-mown  with  pitchforks,  others 
were  loading  the  wagons  with  the  dried 
grass,  and  others  were  upon  the  up-heaped 
carts,  going  towards  the  barn.  'What  a 
busy  time  it  was  for  the  men,  and  for  the 
oxen  ! 

May  liked  to  see  the  great,  patient  an- 
imals that  yield  so  submissively  to  the 
yoke,  and  are  such  helpers  in  this  work- 
a-day  world. 

Grandpapa  pointed  out  to  her  with  his 
whip  every  thing  of  interest  that  he  ob- 
served,—  that  was  all  the  use  he  had  for 
the  whip ;  he  was  too  tender  of  Roan  to 
touch  him  with  it,  except  to  dislodge  some 
tormenting  fly  from  his  back  or  ears. 
Roan  went  well  enough  without  any  spur- 
ring other  than  the  gentle  "  Come,  old  fel- 
low !  we  must  jog  on  a  little  faster." 

The  human  voice  has  great  power  over 
a  horse.  The  animal  seems  to  understand 
a  tone  as  well  as  people  do. 


MAY  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  11 

May's  eyes  were  open  to  all  beautiful 
things  in  nature.  She  noticed  the  flowers 
by  the  wayside  that  never  "waste  their 
sweetness,"  because  the  bees  and  the  but- 
terflies sip  of  their  nectar,  and  the  poor, 
who  have  no  cultivated  gardens,  enjoy  this 
free  garden  of  the  Lord.  The  little  birds 
charmed  her  by  their  wild  melody.  The 
squirrels  ran  nimbly  across  the  road,  just 
before  the  horses'  feet,  or  sat  upon  a  stone- 
wall, or  a  wooden  fence,  to  look  at  the 
famous  spotted  animal  that  had  passed 
them  so  often.  They  held  their  bushy  tails 
in  the  air,  as  if  they  were  waving  plumes, 
to  do  honor  to  the  good  doctor  whose  face 
the  squirrels  had  come  to  know. 

"It's  such  a  nice  ride,  isn't  it,  grand- 
papa ? " 

Little  May  was  very  happy.  Only  one 
thing  she  missed. 

"  I  wish  Rob  were  here,"  she  said. 

Rob  was  her  brother,  and  quite  a  pet, 


12  MAT. 

though   two    years   older,    and    always   a 
genial,  pleasant  companion. 

"There  is  room  enough,  but  I  hadn't 
the  time  to  go  for  him,"  said  grandpapa. 

'•It  is  but  a  short  distance  to  fa- 
ther's." The  little  girl  was  visiting  grand- 
papa's. 

"But  you're  good  enough  company," 
said  May,  thinking  perhaps  her  grandpapa 
might  feel  that  she  didn't  appreciate  him. 

"Thank  you.  We  are  almost  at  the 
Glebe.  I'll  take  you  into  the  house  and 
introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Matson,  and  you 
must  try  to  content  yourself  till  I  get 
back.  It  will  be  a  long  time  ;  at  least  two 
or  three  hours." 

They  drove  up  to  some  high,  stone 
steps,  and  getting  from  the  chaise  as- 
cended them.  There  was  an  embankment 
above  an  embankment,  with  steps  leading 
to  each  level,  and  then  a  broad,  low  farm- 
house. 


MA  F  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  13 

.  "  Your  father  and  mother  lived  here  be- 
fore you  were  born,"  said  the  doctor  to  May. 

The  child  looked  about  her.  It  was 
such  a  lonely  old  place,  but  for  the  bright 
hollyhocks  that  lined  the  walk  to  the  front 
door,  and  other  gay  flowers  that  took  from 
the  dreariness. 

"  I  am  glad  they  don't  live  here  now," 
said  May. 

"  Can  you  be  happy  here  for  a  few 
hours?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  longer  than  that.  I  want  to 
see  where  my  father  and  mother  lived. 
I  am  not  sorry  to  stop  for  a  little  while  ; 
but  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  you  forget  me, 
and  leave  me  here  all  night." 

"  Forget  you !  "  said  grandpapa ;  "  that 
would  not  be  such  an  easy  matter." 

The  little  girl  smiled.  "  I  don't  believe 
you  could  very  well,  grandpapa." 

The  doctor  opened  the  door;  he  did 
not  wait  to  knock  It  would  have  been 


14  MAT. 

strange  for  him  to  use  that  ceremony  in 
the  country,  where  every  door  was  as  his 
own  familiar  one  to  him.  Even  the  house- 
dog came  wagging  his  tail,  instead  of  bark- 
ing as  he  entered. 

"  I  don't  like  the  dog,"  said  May  ;  "  he's 
good  enough,  I  s'pose,  but  he  looks 
dirty." 

The  creature  was  covered  with  leprous- 
looking  sores,  and  grandpapa  sent  him 
away.  A  deaf  old  man,  and  a  deaf  old 
woman,  shuffled  forward  to  meet  their 
guests.  May  shrank  from  them  for  a 
second,  but  remembered  that  her  grandfa- 
ther would  not  leave  her  with  unworthy 
people,  and  she  put  her  hand  frankly  into 
each  old,  withered  palm.  Every  body 
likes  confidence  and  trustfulness.  There 
is  nothing  equal  to  them  to  draw  one's 
heart  out  favorably  towards  us.  The  old 
people  were  at  once  pleased  with  little 
May. 


MAT  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  15 

"  Will  it  trouble  you  to  take  care  of  her 
for  me  for  a  few  hours  ? "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Not  a  bit !  "  they  both  said  earnestly. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  show  her 
the  blackberry  fields,  and  lend  her  a  tin 
pail  to  fill  for  her  grandmother.  We  don't 
have  such  famous  berries  near  home  as 
you  do  about  here." 

"  I'll  go  with  her,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  We  must  give  her  something  to  eat 
first.  It  is  a  long  ride  from  Wickdale, 
and  little  people  are  always  hungry." 

"  Well,  good-bye ;  I  must  be  off,  or  my 
patient  will  get  well  before  I  see  him. 
Give  me  a  kiss,  daughter." 

May  put  her  arms  tightly  about  her 
grandfather's  neck,  and  kissed  him  two  or 
three  times. 

"  He  is  such  a  good  grandpapa ! "  she 
said,  as  she  and  her  new  friends  stood 
in  the  door,  and  watched  him  going  down 
the  walk  to  his  carriage.  She  felt  a  cer- 


16  MAY. 

tain  sense  of  loneliness  as  he  drove  away 
and  left  her  in  that  strange  house  with  the 
deaf  old  people  ;  but  then  she  recollected 
"  Mamma  and  papa  used  to  live  here,  and 
it  will  be  something  to  tell  them,  that  I 
have  been  in  their  old  home." 

So  she  began  to  look  about  her  a  lit- 
tle, to  see  what  she  could  lay  up  in  her 
mind  to  tell  mamma  when  she  should  see 
her. 

It  was  a  barren  place  enough.  The 
floors  were  uncarpeted,  and  the  rooms 
very  scant  of  furniture,  and  the  old  folks 
were  shabbily  dressed.  "  They  must  be 
very  poor,"  May  thought.  She  pitied  them 
for  the  absence  of  every  thing  that  makes 
a  house  home-like.  Grandmamma  had 
such  a  happy  faculty  of  giving  an  air  of 
real  comfort  to  a  place,  that  she  could  not 
be  long  in  a  barn,  or  a  hovel,  and  not 
transform  it  into  a  pleasant,  agreeable 
home.  May  often  thought  grandmam- 


MAY  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  17 

ma's  fingers  were  like  fairy  fingers,  mak- 
ing every  thing  they  touched  beauti- 
ful. 

There  was  nothing  fairy-like  in  old  Mrs. 
Matson  or  her  house.  Her  thin,  wrinkled 
figure  looked  thinner  still  in  the  scanty 
stuff  gown.  There  was  a  black  half-hand- 
kerchief tied  over  her  gray  hair,  and  she 
wore  carpet  slippers  and  no  stockings. 
Her  husband  was  dressed  in  blue-gray 
pantaloons,  and  a  blue  checked  shirt,  with- 
out a  coat  or  vest. 

The  man  and  the  woman  and  the  dog 
altogether  made  rather  a  sad  picture  for 
the  little,  bright  eyes  that  were  searching 
for  something  pretty  to  carry  home  to 
mother.  But  there  was  a  cheery  sound  in 
Mrs.  Matson's  voice,  as  she  said,  "  I'll  get 
you  something  to  eat  this  minute,  little 
dear.  We've  had  our  meal  just  before  you 
came.  Mr.  Matson  was  in  a  hurry  to  get 
to  his  hay-making.  There's  something 


18  MAT. 

left  for  you,  though.  Do  you  like  custard- 
pie  ? " 

May  said,  "  Yes, "  and  the  old  woman 
brought  a  piece  on  a  large  plate,  with 
some  bread. 

"  The  pie's  made  of  quails'  eggs,"  she 
said.  "  Our  hens  don't  lay  very  well,  but 
we  have  plenty  of  quails'  eggs." 

"Let  me  see  one,  please,"  said  May. 
"The  pie's  good.  Are  they  as  nice  as 
hens'  eggs  ? " 

"  Not  quite,  but  we're  very  glad  to  get 
'em  for  lack  of  something  better.  When  the 
good  Lord  doesn't  send  the  best,  he  sends 
something  that'll  answer,  and  it's  a  poor 
heart  that  is  not  thankful  for  whatever  he 
gives,  unworthy  as  we  are  of  the  least  of 
his  mercies." 

May  felt  safe  and  happy  in  the  old 
house,  now  that  her  hostess  had  spoken  of 
a  kind  heavenly  Father  as  if  she  loved 
him,  and  trusted  in  him. 


MAT  AND  HER  GRANDPAPA.  19 

May  took  the  pretty,  small,  pure  white 
egg  in  her  hand,  as  the  old  woman  brought 
her  one. 

"Shall  I  have  it  to  take  home  with 
me  ? "  she  asked. 

"  If  you  like.  I'll  give  you  more  than 
one,  —  a  basket-full,  we  have  such  quan- 
tities. The  quails  lay  fifteen  or  twenty  be- 
fore they  set.  We  find  nests  full  all  about 
on  the  ground,  and  in  the  thick  tufts  of 
grass." 

"  Is  the  quail  pretty  ? "  asked  May. 

"  I  think  so.  The  Master  has  given  it 
beautiful  feathers.  I'll  show  you  ;  —  there's 
a  stuffed  one  in  the  other  room." 

"  Is  this  what  used  to  be  mother's  parlor  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  dearie,  I  s'pose  so.  It's 
ours." 

There  was  not  much  more  in  it  to  make 
it  pleasant  than  in  the  other  apartment, 
excepting  that  the  broad  fire-place  was 
filled  with  fresh  asparagus  branches,  and  a 


20  MAT. 

bright  "  fly-catcher  "  of  colored  paper  hung 
in  the  center  of  the  cross  beams  that  were 
in  the  ceiling ;  and  the  stuffed  quail  was 
upon  the  mantel-piece,  as  if  to  keep  watch 
over  the  place. 

The  old  woman  took  it  down,  and  put  it 
upon  the  table  for  May  to  examine.  It 
was  about  nine  inches  long,  and  had  a 
black  bill,  and  a  line  over  the  eye,  down 
the  neck  and  chin,  of  pure  white,  bordered 
by  a  band  of  black,  which  descended  and 
formed  a  crescent  on  the  throat.  The 
eyes  were  dark  hazel.  The  crown,  neck, 
and  upper  part  of  the  breast  a  reddish 
brown ;  the  sides  of  the  neck  a  reddish 
brown,  spotted  with  white  and  black ;  the 
back  and  shoulders  a  reddish  brown  mixed 
with  ash,  and  marked  with  black ;  the 
wings  plain  and  dusky ;  the  lower  part  of 
the  breast  and  belly  whitish,  marked  with 
black  arrow-heads,  and  the  tail  ash,  spotted 
with  reddish  brown. 


MAY  AND  HER   GRANDPAPA.  21 

"He  is  pretty,"  said  May.  "Is  he 
good  to  eat  ? " 

"  Excellent !  We  make  many  a  meal 
from  these  birds.  You  see  we  haven't 
much  other  meat,  and  so  God  sends  us 
this.  The  hens  and  the  quails  make  good 
living." 

May  finished  her  bread  and  pie,  and 
took  one  more  look  at  the  feathered  crea- 
ture, before  Mrs.  Matson  put  it  back  upon 
its  high  perch. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BLACKBERRYING. 

"  T  'LL  get  a  pail  now,  and  we'll  go-  for 
JL    the   berries,"   said   the   old   woman. 
"  The  sun's  hot,  but  there's  breeze  enough 
to  temper  it." 

May  could  not  help  noticing  how  Mrs. 
Matson  seemed  to  see  and  feel  the  best 
side  of  every  thing.  She  knew  very  well 
that  some  natures  look  always  at  the 
worst,  and  fret  constantly  over  ills,  when, 
if  they  would,  they  could  find  the  good, 
and  let  it  overbalance  the  evil.  "  I  have 
found  something  beautiful  to  carry  home 
with  me,"  she  thought.  "Such  a  happy 
disposition  is  worth  more  than  fine  furni- 


BLA  CKBERR  YING.  23 

ture  in  a  house.  It  doesn't  look  so  bare 
and  lonely  here  as  it  did  at  first." 

The  old  people  were  very  poor  indeed, 
as  the  world  estimates  wealth.  The  farm 
lands  had  run  to  barrenness  from  want  of 
enriching,  and  they  only  contrived  to 
scrape  enough  together  to  give  them  a 
scanty  subsistence.  Besides,  they  had 
passed  the  vigor  of  their  youth,  and  were 
not  able  to  dig  and  delve,  and  so  drag- 
ged on,  as  best  they  could,  content  with 
mere  shelter  and  food. 

May  could  see  poverty  written  every 
where,  and  it  made  her  little  heart  sad. 
Children  like  lavishness  of  living.  They 
take  the  whole  world  as  their  own,  until 
they  come  to  such  an  age  as  begins  to 
see  boundaries  and  limits  and  fixed  land- 
marks. This  was  one  of  May's  first  experi- 
ences of  want. 

The  old  woman  was  washing   when  the 


24  MAT. 

doctor  appeared  at  the  door  with  his  little 
grandaughter. 

She  put  her  tubs  away,  and  with  a  royal 
hospitality  gave  herself  wholly  to  the  en- 
tertainment of  her  guest. 

They  went  out  together,  leaving  the  dog 
lying  in  the  wide,  open  door.  No  need  of 
bolts  and  bars  in  that  house.  There  was 
nothing  to  tempt  a  robber,  and  it  was  so 
solitary  a  place  that  few  stragglers  ever  pas- 
sed. The  bees  were  buzzing  in  the  holly- 
hocks. They  made  pleasant  music. 

"  I'll  give  you  some  gooseberries  when 
we  come  back ;  see  what  large  ones ! " 
said  Mrs.  Matson,  as  they  went  down  the 
walk. 

,       "  As  big  as  the  gooseberry-balls  at  the 
vcandy-store,"    said    May.     "I    never    saw 
larger  ;  they're  elegant ! " 

They  passed  Mr.  Matson  in  the  hay- 
field,  across  the  road  from  the  house.  He 


EL  A  CKBERR  TING.  25 

was  alone,  raking  up  the  crisp  grass  into 
little  mounds.  There  was  a  wheelbarrow 
near,  in  which  he  brought  his  hay  to  the 
barn.  There  was  but  one  cow  to  eat  it 
now.  She  was  enough  for  their  need. 
She  gave  them  milk  in  plenty  for  their 
butter. 

"  Would  you  like  a  ride  ? "  asked  the  old 
man,  putting  some  fresh  hay  in  the  bottom 
of  the  barrow  for  May. 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  and  the  little  girl  seated 
herself  on  the  sweet  cushion,  and  was  trun- 
dled along,  till  her  carriage  was  stopped  by 
a  stone  wall. 

"  The  berries  are  over  here,"  said  Mr. 
Matson.  "  There  are  acres  upon  acres  of 
them." 

"  Thank  you  for  my  ride,"  said  May. 
"  I  like  it  even  better  than  grandpapa's 
old  chaise." 

Mr.  Matson  smiled.  "That's  because 
it's  something  new,"  he  said.  "If  I  am 


26  MAT. 

here  when   you   come,  I'll   take   you   and 
your  berries  to  the  house." 

"That'll  be  grand,"  said  May. 

He  lifted  her  over  the  low  wall,  and  took 
the  stones  down  to  let  his  wife  through, 
putting  them  up  again  in  a  minute,  for 
they  were  small,  picked  up  about  the 
place.  It  was  such  rocky,  stony  land,  that 
it  was  no  wonder  the  soil  was  poor. 

The  ground  beyond  the  wall  was  cov- 
ered with  vines,  black  with  the  luscious 
fruit  large  and  dripping  with  rich  juice. 

"  I  never  saw  such  blackberries,"  said 
May.  "  We  shall  fill  our  kettle  in  a  min- 
ute." 

The  old  woman  stooped  and  picked  as 
diligently  as  could  be,  and  her  hands  and 
May's  were  stained  with  the  red  juice,  and 
the  briers  clung  to  their  dresses,  and 
scratched  the  poor  old  stockingless  legs. 
May  did  not  feel  the  brambles,  for  her 
boots  were  high,  and  her  stockings  were  a 


BLACKBERRTING.  27 

good  protection.  She  did  not  dare  to  say 
any  thing  about  the  wounds  her  kind 
friend  was  getting,  for  that  would  show 
her  that  she  noticed  her  poverty ;  but 
she  made  haste  to  fill  the  pail,  so  as  to  get 
out  of  the  field  as  quick  as  she  could. 

The  old  man  was  waiting  for  them  when 
they  came  to  the  wall  with  their  treasure 
of  fruit,  and  it  was  quite  comical  to  hear 
the  child  insist  upon  the  old  woman's 
riding  while  she  walked  by  her  side.  She 
did  look  very  tired,  and  her  husband,  with 
a  funny  twinkle  of  the  eye,  joined  May,  and 
got  the  old  woman  into  the  wheelbarrow. 

Grandpapa  appeared  in  sight  just  as  the 
little  party  were  coming  toward  the  house, 
and  he  was  fairly  convulsed  with  laughter ; 
but  he  suppressed  it  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  alighted  from  his  chaise,  and  ran  to 
help  Mrs.  Matson  and  May  over  the  other 
wall. 

The  old  woman  got  a  sly  chance  to  say, 


28  MAT. 

"  I  knew  it  would  please  the  little  girl,  and 
it  was  really  a  great  lift  for  me.  I'm  not 
so  young  as  I  used  to  be,  doctor ;  but  I 
have  strength  enough  for  my  day,  I  reckon." 

Grandpapa  had  brought  some  fresh 
loaves  of  baker's  bread,  and  some  smoked 
salmon  from  the  Pier,  under  pretense  that 
he  wanted  some  for  himself,  but  really  that 
he  might  be  sure  of  giving  a  treat  to  these 
poor  people.  He  left  half,  and  took  the 
rest  to  the  carriage,  and  when  the  black- 
berries and  the  gooseberries  and  the 
quails'  eggs  were  stowed  away  in  the  box 
under  the  seat,  he  and  May  drove  off, 
shaking  their  hands  at  the  good  old  people 
until  they  were  quite  out  of  sight. 

May  was  thoughtful. 

"  Have  you  had  a  good  time  ? "  asked 
the  doctor,  scanning  her  little,  quiet  face 
curiously,  to  see  what  impression  her  visit 
had  made. 

"Ye  —  s,  grandpapa." 


BLACKBERRJINO.  29 

"  Not  a  very  hearty  yes.  I'm  afraid  it 
was  dull  for  you,  daughter." 

"  It  is  hard  to  be  old  and  poor,  isn't  it, 
grandpapa  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so." 

"But  then " 

The  little  girl  did  not  finish  her  sen- 
tence. 

"  Did  you  find  any  thing  to  relieve  it 
there,  at  the  old  place  ?  Any  thing  to  make 
it  seem  less  hard  than  you  at  first 
thought  ? " 

"  Yes,  grandpapa." 

"  What  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  think  Mrs.  Matson  didn't  seem 
to  feel  so  poor  as  I  should  if  I  lived  there ; 
she  made  the  best  of  every  thing." 

"  That's  the  true  philosophy,"  said 
grandpapa,  as  if  to  himself. 

His  view  of  the  case  did  not  satisfy  the 
child.  She  had  come  to  a  deeper  sense  of 
the  thing. 


30  MAT. 

"  Isn't  it  religion,  grandpapa  ? " 
The  doctor  looked  at  the  child  with  sur- 
prise. Twice  already  during  this  drive,  her 
little  grave  remarks  had  touched  his  in- 
most soul.  Old  people  were  nearer  heaven 
than  children,  because  it  was  almost  time 
for  them  to  die,  and  it  was  religion 
that  enabled  one  to  bear  with  patience  and 
cheerfulness  all  the  ills  and  vexations  of 
this  life.  Had  any  philosopher  ever  ad- 
vanced such  sentiments  as  these  !  Grand- 
papa forgot  little  May's  presence  for 
a  while,  and  fell  to  pondering  what  she  had 
said.  He  was  very  old,  between  seventy 
and  eighty.  Was  he  near  to  heaven,  or 
near  to  the  grave  without  this  other  near- 
ness ?  That  would  be  dreadful !  It  made 
him  uncomfortable  to  think  of  it. 

And  was  there  any  mere  worldly  phil- 
osophy that  could  help  him  when  illness 
should  try  his  utmost  patience,  and  the 
open  tomb  should  be  close  before  him  ? 


BLACKBERRYING.  31 

"  Who's  sick  at  the  Pier  ? "  asked  May, 
abruptly,  little  conscious  of  what  was 
passing  in  her  grandfather's  mind. 

"  Old  Mr.  Peters." 

"  Very  old  ? " 

"  About  sixty-five." 

The  doctor's  own  words  impressed  him 
strangely  and  forcibly,  —  sixty-five,  so 
much  younger  than  himself,  and  yet  he 
had  said,  "  old  Mr.  Peters." 

"  Must  he  die  ? " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Is  he  afraid  ?  " 

The  child  looked  up  so  earnestly  to  get 
the  answer  to  this  question  ! 

"  Afraid  of  what  ? " 

"Why,  I  thought  maybe  he  had  not 
loved  God,  and  had  not  obeyed  him,  and 
so  would  dread  to  meet  him.  You  know, 
grandpapa,  that  I  do  not  like  to  meet  papa 
when  I  have  done  any  thing  that  he  has 
forbidden  me  to  do.  It  is  like  that,  isn't  it? " 


32  MAT. 

Children  make  strange  appeals  to  us 
older  people,  —  appeals  that  we  can  not 
always  meet  with  composure. 

Grandpapa,  however,  was  very  glad  to  be 
able  to  say,  "  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Peters  is 
afraid  to  die  ;  I  believe  he  is  a  good  man, 
and  has  tried  to  do  his  duty." 

"  I'm  glad  ! "  said  May. 

She  gave  such  a  little  sigh  of  relief,  as  if 
the  matter  was  settled  to  her  satisfaction, 
and  then  turned  her  attention  wholly  to 
the  things  about  her. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
clouds  were  piling  up  dark,  with  silver 
edges  that  betokened  a  thunder  storm. 
Here  and  there  a  deep  blue  patch  showed 
between,  but  gradually  all  was  being  ob- 
scured. 

"  You  shall  reach  home  before  the  rain 
falls,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  thunder  rumbled.  "  I  don't  mind 
it,"  said  May.  "  I  love  to  hear  it.  Mother 


BL  A  CEBERR  TING.  33 

says  it  is  the  voice  of  God.  When  I  have 
been  naughty,  then  I  am  afraid  of  the 
thunder,  as  Adam  was  afraid  of  God's 
voice  in  the  garden  when  he  had  done 
wrong,  —  remember,  grandpapa  ?  " 

The  doctor  touched  Roan  gently  with 
the  end  of  the  whip.  "  We  must  get  up, 
old  fellow,"  he  said.  "  Grandmamma  will  be 
worried  about  May  if  she  isn't  under 
shelter  soon ;  that  sun-bonnet  is  a  very 
slight  protection." 

Just  as  the  old  chaise-box  was  emptied 
of  its  contents,  and  Roan  was  in  his  stable, 
and  grandpapa  and  May  were  safely 
housed,  the  heavens  opened,  and  torrents 
of  rain  poured  down  upon  the  thirsty  earth. 

"  I've  had  a  happy  day,"  said  May,  as 
her  grandmother  folded  her  in  loving 
arms ;  "  but  I'm  so  glad  to  get  home 
again.  It  isn't  like  this  home,  at  the 
Glebe." 

"  No    little  girl  there,   I  suppose,"  said 

3 


34  MAT. 

grandmamma.  "That  would  spoil  it  for 
me  ;  I've  missed  a  little  girl  very  much  to- 
day." 

"And    I've    missed     my    grandmother 
more  than  very  much,"  said  May. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE   COUSIN'S   VISIT. 

ROB  had  come  to  spend  the  day.  It 
was  Saturday,  the  day  following 
May's  visit  to  the  Glebe.  Three  little 
cousins  came  also.  It  was  a  gala  time 
for  the  children.  They  had  the  range  of 
the  house  and  of  the  gardens,  south,  east 
and  west.  Such  fun  everywhere.  Lily 
Kent,  and  Ruth  Rice  were  the  cousins. 

It  was  about  ten  o'clock,  and  the  sun 
was  too  hot  to  play  out  of  doors  just  yet. 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  the  garret,"  said 
May.  "  There  are  the  swings,  you  know. 
There's  always  a  breeze  when  we  are 
swinging." 

Grandmamma  called  them  into  the  din- 


«6  MAY. 

ing-room.     "  I've  something  nice  for  you," 
she  said. 

They  knew  what  that  meant.  It  wasn't 
the  first  time  in  their  lives.  Every  Sun- 
day they  had  some  such  experience.  Their 
little  feet  were  nimble  to  obey. 

Grandmamma  broke  a  large,  light  cake 
into  pieces,  and  gave  it  to  them.  It  was 
almost  fresh  from  the  oven,  and  scarcely 
cool. 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  is  quite  as  health- 
ful as  if  it  were  a  day  old,"  she  said, 
"but  children  have  so  much  exercise 
their  digestive  powers  are  not  easily  in- 
jured. It  isn't  so  much  what  people  eat 
that  hurts  them,  as  the  lazy  life  that  many 
of  them  lead.  Now  run." 

How  cool  and  pleasant  grandmamma 
looked,  in  her  purple  muslin  and  nice 
white  cap !  She  was  such  a  perfect 
old  lady,  —  that  was  what  the  children 
thought,  and  they  loved  to  take  refuge 


THE  COUSIN'S  VISIT.  37 

with  her  when  tired,  heated,  or  troubled. 
It  did  not  matter  what  was  the  cause  of 
worriment,  under  grandmamma's  wing  were 
rest  and  peace.  There  are  some  people 
who  have  this  influence,  but  the  instances 
are  rare. 

This  good  grandmother  had  so  many 
resources  when  the  inventions  of  the  little 
folks  failed  them.  She  knew  how  to  set 
their  tiny  faculties  at  work,  so  that  they 
could  feel  that  they  were  doing  something, 
and  not  that  they  were  mere  puppets 
whose  wires  she  was  pulling. 

"  When  you  have  nothing  better  to 
amuse  you,  come  to  me,  little  dears,"  she 
said,  "  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  find." 

"  Yes,  grandmamma,"  and  away  they 
went,  up,  and  up.  Only  two  flights  in  the 
country  before  the  top  is  reached  ! 

That  makes  me  think,  —  Are  our  every- 
day home-lives  in  the  country  nearer  to 
the  celestial  hights  than  in  the  city  ?  I 


38  MAT. 

believe  we  do  have  to  overcome  more  that 
is  material  and  earthy  in  our  pinched  city 
existence  before  we  can  ascend  and  look 
from  an  open  roof  into  God's  beautiful 
heavens. 

The  sky-light  was  raised  in  grand- 
mamma's attic,  and  the  sun  streamed  in 
and  played  upon  the  floor.  Kent  perched 
himself  upon  the  topmost  stair  of  the 
short  flight  that  led  to  the  scuttle. 

"Take  care!"  said  May.  "You're 
such  a  little  boy,  and  it  isn't  quite  safe 
for  you  to  be  there  alone." 

"  Come  down,  and  I'll  swing  you,"  said 
his  sister  Lily. 

"  It  is  prettier  here.  I  want  to  see  all 
over  the  village ; "  and  he  stood  and 
bobbed  his  little  round  head  above  the 
edge  of  the  oblong  opening. 

"  I'll  stay  with  him  till  he  is  satisfied," 
said  Lily,  whispering  to  May.  "  He 
doesn't  like  one  thing  long  at  a  time,  and 


THE  COUSIN'S   VISIT.  39 

will  get  tired  in  a  minute  if  we  don't  insist 
upon  his  coming  down.  Just  as  sure  as  we 
tease  him  to  come,  just  so  sure  will  he 
want  to  stay  up  there." 

"  Isn't  it  queer  ? "  said  May.  "  I  always 
feel  that  way  myself." 

"  And  I,  too,"  said  Lily. 

"  And  I,"  said  Ruth. 

I  do  not  believe  that  little  children  are 
singular  in  this  disposition.  I  think  many 
grown  people  show  the  same  obstinacy. 
We  are  all  of  us  but  older  children,  and  it 
is  well  for  us  that  we  have  an  all-wise 
Parent,  whose  will  we  must  obey,  if  we 
would  have  real  comfort  and  joy. 

"  Isn't  it  buful  up  here  ?  "  said  Kent,  as 
Lily  put  her  arm  around  him  to  hold  him 
steadily  upon  his  feet. 

"  Where's  Rob  ?  "  called  May.  "  Oh  !  I 
know ;  he's  in  Tom's  room,  rummaging 
the  old  sea-chest."  That  brought  Kent 
down,  and  they  all  went  into  the  inner 


40  MA  Y. 

room,  in  which  was   a  strong  smell  of 
tar. 

"It's  like  being  in  a  ship,"  said  Ruth. 

Rob  pulled  some  bits  of  rope  from  a 
corner  of  a  large,  wooden  chest.  "  This  is 
full  of  it,"  he  said;  "only  smell!"  And 
each  one  of  them  took  a  sniff. 

"  It  carries  me  over  the  sea,"  said  May. 
"  I  wonder  where  Tom  is  !  It  is  splendid 
to  have  him  at  home  winters !  He  tells 
such  long  'yarns,'  as  he  calls  his  sea- 
stories." 

Tom  was  Dorcas'  only  son,  and  grand- 
mamma had  taken  him  to  live  with  her 
when  he  was  a  mere  lad,  but  he  wanted  to 
go  to  the  fishing-banks  in  the  season,  and 
so  she  had  him  only  now  and  then  at 
home.  He  was  cook  on  board  the  vessel, 
and  nobody's  chowders  and  clam-fritters 
tasted  like  those  the  sailor-boy  made  when 
he  came  for  his  short  sojourn  on  land. 
The  children  were  delighted  whenever 


THE  COUSIN'S  VISIT.  41 

they  heard  the  quick  step  coming  round 
to  the  south  door,  and  could  see  Tom's 
face  peeping  in  upon  them. 

Kent  put  his  fat  hands  into  the  chest, 
and  began  to  dive  about  among  the 
sailor's  relics. 

"  Take  care  !  There  are  fish-hooks  close 
to  Kent's  fingers.  Better  take  him  away, 
Lily." 

"Don't  you  think  we  had  better  let 
Tom's  things  alone  ? "  said  May.  To  be 
sure  there  is  nothing  but  old,  tarred  ropes, 
and  fishing-tackle,  and  pipes,  and  a  few 
such  things  there,  but  then  he  prizes 
them." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Here  are  little  covered  rings, 
and  needle-boxes,  and  a  good  many  other 
knick-knacks.  I  like  to  look  at  them," 
said  Rob. 

"  Well,  put  them  all  back  where  you 
found  them,  and  he  won't  mind  yom 
touching  them." 


42  MAT. 

"  I  want  to  play  keeping  house,"  said 
Ruth.  "  My  dolly's  tired  of  roving  about 
with  no  home.  I'll  choose  this  place  by  the 
window." 

"And  I  this,"  said  Lily,  "beside  the 
chimney  ;  I  can  cook  better." 

May  thought  she  had  rather  be  grand- 
mother, and  Rob  grandfather,  with  a  place 
for  the  rest  of  the  children  to  visit  on 
Saturday  ;  and  Kent  was  to  be  Lily's  lit- 
tle boy.  So  it  was  nicely  arranged,  and 
the  different  houses  went  up  like  magic, 
and  were  furnished  with  the  articles  from 
under  the  eaves.  Many  an  old  chair 
and  table  and  cricket  figured  in  the  new 
parlors  where  the  little  housewives  sat  in 
their  matronly  dignity. 

"  What  are  you  doing  up  there,  chil- 
dren ? " 

The  young  people  started  for  the  head 
of  the  stairs,  but  before  they  could  reach  it 
grandpapa  was  half  way  up,  eating  hi? 


THE  COUSIN'S  VISIT.  43 

portion  of  the  cake  that  had  been 
broken. 

"  Will  you  play  with  us,  grandpapa  ?  " 
asked  Kent. 

"  For  a  minute ;  while  Roan  swallows 
his  hay.  Miss  Hitt  is  very  sick,  and  has 
sent  for  me,  so  I  must  not  wait  long." 

A  minute  from  an  old  person  is  a  great 
pleasure  to  little  people.  It  counts  so 
much  more  than  the  time  of  young  play- 
mates. 

"  I'll  swing  you,"  said  Rob,  as  grand- 
papa seated  himself  with  Kent  on  one 
knee,  and  Ruth  on  the  other.  "  It  is  lucky 
the  rope  is  good  and  strong." 

Ruth  hugged  her  grandfather  so  tightly 
that  she  almost  choked  him,  and  he  was 
forced  to  beg  off  soon,  and  go  visiting 
instead  of  swinging. 

"  Come  to  my  house." 

"  And  to  mine." 

"  And  mine." 


44  MA  T. 

The  little  voices  besieged  him,  and  the 
little  hands  held  him  captive. 

"Will  you  be  content  if  I  give  just  a 
peep  at  each  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  grandpapa." 

"Well,  you  must  go  to  your  houses, 
then.  Of  course  I  can't  get  in  if  you  are 
not  there." 

So  there  was  a  scampering  to  get  home 
and  be  in  state  for  their  guest ;  and  a 
starched  and  formal  time  the  doctor  made 
of  these  calls,  quite  unlike  his  free  manner 
in  visiting  those  under  his  care. 

It  would  have  been  strange  if  he  left  no 
blessing.  This  time  it  was  in  the  shape 
of  a  silver  coin,  placed  in  each  little  palm 
as  he  uttered  the  mystic  words,  "  Open 
your  mouth  and  shut  your  eyes,"  and 
when  the  eyes  opened  again,  there  was  a 
great  shout  of  joy  from  all  the  voices. 

After  this  they  could  not  let  him  go 
alone,  but  accompanied  him  down-stairs, 


THE  COUSINS'    VISIT.  45 

a  "guard  of  honor"  they  said,  and  went 
with  him  to  the  barn  to  get  Roan. 

The  hay  was  sweet  in  the  loft,  and 
there  was  a  hen's  nest  in  an  unused  man- 
ger, with  two  or  three  eggs  in  it,  and 
four  little  kittens  in  the  chaise-house,  two 
white,  and  two  black  with  white  marks 
upon  them.  So  many  things  to  make  the 
children  happy ! 

Rob  helped  to  saddle  Roan,  and  led  him 
round  to  the  store  door,  the  whole  proces- 
sion following  at  his  heels. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

GRANDPAPA'S   LESSON. 

THE  store  was  across  the  street  from 
the  house,  and  was  the  place  where 
grandpapa  kept  drugs  and  compounded 
his  medicines  ;  for  his  was  very  different 
from  a  city  practice,  where  a  doctor  writes 
his  prescription  on  a  slip  of  paper,  and 
sends  to  an  apothecary  for  it  to  be 
supplied. 

There  was  the  oblong  trunk  filled  with 
bottles  and  powders.  This  was  for  the 
old  chaise  ;  but  now  that  the  doctor  was 
to  go  on  horse-back,  he  had  another 
contrivance. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Kent,  as  the 
doctor  brought  out  a  strange-looking 


GRANDPAPA  'S  LESSON.  47 

leathern  apparatus,  and  slung  it  over  the 
saddle. 

Kent  and  his  sister  were  city-bred,  and 
had  never  seen  this  sort  of  a  contrivance. 

"  Saddle-bags  ;  don't  you  know  ? "  said 
May. 

"  But  what  are  they  for  ? "  asked  Ruth. 
"  What  queer-looking  things  they  are  ! " 

"Grandpapa  says  they  are  to  carry 
babies  in,  sometimes,"  said  May  "  and 
when  there  are  no  babies,  why,  he  fills 
them  with  medicine." 

The  doctor  was  fumbling  in  a  drawer 
behind  the  counter  just  then,  and  lost  the 
conversation. 

"  Like  liquorice  ? "  "he  asked,  handing 
each  of  the  little  people  a  stick. 

"  I'd  rather  have  ball,  if  you  please," 
said  May. 

Grandpapa  would  have  given  the  chil- 
dren a  piece  of  his  nose,  if  they  had  asked 
for  it,  and  it  had  been  a  feasible  thing ;  he 


48  MAI 

loved  so  much  to  wait  on  them,  and 
gratify  them.  To  be  sure  the  giving  stick 
or  ball-liquorice  was  not  very  much,  but  he 
would  have  done  great  things  just  as 
readily. 

"  When  I  come  back,"  he  said,  "  I  shall 
expect  you  to  tell  me  what  the  difference 
is  between  the  two  kinds  of  liquorice  that 
I  have  given  you.  I  shall  be  gone  an* 
hour ;  for  Miss  Hitt's  is  only  a  mile  away. 
Get  up,  Roan." 

"  Grandmamma  is  coming  ;  let  us  ask 
her,"  said  May,  as  the  dear,  old  figure 
emerged  from  the  house  door,  and  made 
its  way  over  to  the  store. 

"It  is  nice  and  cool  here,"  she  said, 
sitting  between  Kent  and  Lily  upon  the 
brown,  wooden  settle  that  had  been  there 
since  the  year  one,  I  should  think. 

"You  are  wise  little  people  to  keep 
under  shelter  till  the  scorching  heat  is 
over." 


GRANDPAPA  'S  LESSON.  49 

"And  we  want  to  be  wiser,  grand- 
mamma," said  Rob.  "  Grandpapa  has 
been  putting  lessons  to  us  in  our  play- 
time, and  we  can't  do  them  without  your 
help." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  asked  grandmamma. 

"  Liquorice  ;  liquorice  ball,  and  stick," 
said  the  many  voices. 

"  Oh !  you  want  to  know  about  them. 
That  is  like  grandpapa,  to  wish  to  teach 
you  something.  'Tis  a  way  he  had  with 
his  own  children.  They  must  always  know 
about  the  things  that  they  handled." 

She  took  a  piece  of  each  sort  in  her 
hand,  —  the  one  black  and  solid,  the  other 
a  yellowish  brown,  and  fibrous,  or  stringy, 
so  that  it  could  be  pulled  apart  in  threads. 

"  You  don't  know  where  it  grows,  I  sup- 
pose ? " 

"  We  know  nothing  about  it,  grand- 
mamma, except  that  it  is  very  good," 
said  Rob. 


50  MAT. 

"  Have  we  any  growing  in  our  coun- 
try ? "  said  May. 

"  In  North  America  there  is  one  kind. 
There  are  six  or  seven  other  species  that 
belong  to  the  northern  and  temperate 
parts  of  the  eastern  continent.  The  leaves 
are  pinnated " 

"  What's  that  ? " 

"  Like  wings,"  said  grandmamma  ;  "  and 
the  flowers  are  small ;  some  blue,  some 
violet,  and  some  white.  The  roots  are  very 
sweet.  This  is  the  root  I  have  in  my 
hand,"  and  she  showed  them  the  fibrous 
bit. 

The  common  liquorice  grows  wild  in  the 
south  of  Europe  ;  and  in  many  places  pe**- 
ple  cultivate  it  for  the  sake  of  the  root, 
which  is  sold  sometimes  in  its  natural 
state,  and  often  the  extract  of  it.  In  Spain 
a  great  many  tuns  of  the  extract  are 
annually  sent  to  London  and  used  by 
the  brewers  in  making  porter.  Physicians 


GRANDPAPA'S  LESSON.  51 

give  it  in  their  medicines  for  coughs,  and 
lung  complaints,  and  in  all  the  European 
cities  liquorice-water  is  sold  as  we  sell 
lemonade.  People  esteem  it  a  very  re- 
freshing beverage." 

"  Let  us  try  it,"  said  Rob,  who  wanted 
proof  and  illustration  for  every  thing. 

A  pitcher  of  water  and  a  tumbler  were 
on  the  table,  and  Rob  took  out  his  jack- 
knife  and  cut  a  little  piece  from  the  ball. 
It  was  not  exactly  a  ball,  but  a  large 
roll.  He  stirred  it  in  the  water,  and  when 
it  was  pretty  well  colored  he  offered  it  to 
grandmamma  to  taste. 

"  Very  good,"  she  said. 

May  liked  it  "  ever  so  much." 

Lily  puckered  up  her  face ;  she  never 
cared  for  sweets. 

Ruth  and  Rob  thought  it  excellent,  and 
rejoiced  that  they  had  found  it  out ;  and 
little  Kent  smacked  his  lips,  and  said, 
'"iicious!" 


52  MAT. 

"  Where  does  the  liquorice  grow  in 
America  ?  "  asked  May. 

"  On  the  plains  of  the  Missouri,  from 
St.  Louis  upwards  ;  and  it  reaches  even 
to  the  bounds  of  the  Pacific  ocean,"  said 
grandmamma.  "  It  requires  a  deep,  light 
and  sandy  soil  in  order  to  grow  well. 
Your»grandfather  tried  the  experiment  of 
cultivating  it,  and  succeeded  in  making  a 
a  little  grow  upon  his  wood-lot,  —  one 
stunted  plant." 

"  How  do  they  get  this  hard,  black  sub- 
stance ? "  asked  Rob,  tossing  his  ball  in 
the  air,  and  catching  it  again. 

"They  boil  the  extract,  or  juice,  until 
it  thickens  and  hardens." 

"As  one  would  boil  cane-juice,  or 
maple-sap  for  sugar,  I  suppose,"  said  Rob. 

"  Exactly,"    said  grandmamma. 

"  How  many  things  grandpapa  has  in 
the  drawers  ! "  said  May.  "  It  is  danger- 


GRANDPAPA'S  LESSON.  53 

to    come    here   often ;    we    should     have 
lessons  all  the  time  ! " 

"  Don't  you  like  to  learn  them  ? "  asked 
grandmamma. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  when  we  have  so  good  a 
teacher ;  but  when  we  go  to  the  books, 
and  puzzle  out  things  alone,  it  is  not  quite 
so  pleasant." 

"  What  is  learned  in  a  difficult  way, 
with  some  effort  on  your  own  part,  you  are 
more  certain  to  remember ;  do  you  know 
that  ? " 

"  Yes,  grandmamma." 

"  Well,  now  that  you  have  learned  the 
lesson  that  grandpapa  set,  I  think  Rob 
had  better  climb  the  cherry-tree  and 
bring  down  something  to  reward  and  re- 
fresh you." 

Rob  was  ready  enough  for  that  pleasure. 
He  got  out  of  the  south  window  into  the 
tree  that  was  close  by,  touching  the  panes 
with  its  branches.  The  thick  foliage  shel- 


54  MAT. 

tered  him   from  the  sun,  and  the   large, 
red  cherries  hung  temptingly  about  him. 

"  What  beauties  they  are ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Come  round  through  the  gate,  and 
hold  your  aprons  under  the  tree." 

The  children  ran  to  get  the  cherries. 

"The  robins  have  pecked  some  of  the 
best,"  said  Rob,  "but  then  they  deserved 
them  for  keeping  the  worms  off.  Grand- 
papa says  the  birds  do  more  good  than 
harm." 

"  Give  me  some  of  the  very  nicest  you 
can  find,  for  grandmamma,"  said  May. 

"  Such  a  comfort,  to  have  so  many  dear 
little  grandchildren  to  think  of  me !  "  said 
grandmamma,  as  the  young  folks  gathered 
about  her  and  heaped  her  lap  with  clus- 
ters of  red  and  green. 

Just  at  this  moment  old  Roan  came 
clattering  up  to  the  door,  with  soft,  green 
branches  of  birch  waving  over  his  ears. 


GRANDPAPA' 8  LESSON.  55 

"  The  flies  are  so  troublesome !  "  said 
grandpapa,  as  the  children  pressed  about 
him.  "The  poor  fellow  was  grateful 
enough  when  I  gave  him  this  adornment ;  " 
and  the  kind  old  gentleman  took  out 
the  branches,  and  threw  them  into  the 
middle  of  the  street. 

"  Have  you  learned  your  lesson  ? "  he 
asked,  taking  a  survey  of  the  merry  little 
group. 

"  Yes,  grandpapa  ;  we  know  all  about  it." 

"  I  can  account  for  it,"  said  he,  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  another  figure  inside  the 
store,  seated  upon  the  old  settle.  "  Rob- 
bie, you  lead  Roan  to  the  stable,  and  I'll 
be  along  in  a  minute  to  give  him  some 
water.  There's  hay  enough  left  in  the 
rack  for  him  to  nibble  upon  until  his  full 
meal-time  comes  again." 

"  How  is  Miss  Hitt  ? "  asked  grand- 
mamma, as  the  doctor  brought  his  saddle- 
bags in,  and  put  them  upon  the  counter. 


56  MA  T. 

"  Not  much  the  matter,  I  should  think 
I  caught  sight  of  her  climbing  into  the  bed- 
room window  as  I  approached  the  house." 

"  What  could  be  her  motive  in  pretend- 
ing to  be  sick  ? " 

"  I  don't  know.  Strange  freaks  possess 
some  people.  Doctors  have  to  deal  with 
singular  specimens  sometimes." 

"  Couldn't  she  get  in  through  the  house 
door  ? " 

"  Not  quickly  enough  to  escape  me.  It 
was  laughable  to  see  her  covered  up  in 
bed,  and  waiting  for  me  to  feel  her  pulse 
and  prescribe  for  her.  I  gave  her  two 
bitter  pills,  though,  that  will  cure  her  of 
this  sort  of  pastime." 

"  But  she  will  throw  them  away." 

"  I  made  her  swallow  them  while  I  sat 
by,"  said  grandpapa. 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  there  were  real 
ills  enough  in  life  without  feigning  any," 
said  grandmamma. 


GRANDPAPA'S  LESSON.  57 

"  Morbid  people  will  take  almost  any 
means  to  create  sympathy,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  What  is  morbid,  grandpapa  ? "  asked 
May,  who  had  been  listening  attentively, 
while  the  other  children  went  with  Rob. 

"  Did  you  hear,  puss  ?  Why  it  means 
diseased,  or  really  unsound  ;  but  we  often 
say  one  is  morbid  when  one  has  all  sorts 
of  whims  and  fancies  about  one's  self." 

"  I  was  a  little  morbid,  then,  the  other 
day,  when  I  thought  I  was  going  to  die 
because  I  had  a  gum-boil.  Wasn't  I, 
grandpapa  ? " 

"  Precisely  so  ;  but  you  are  bravely  over 
that ;"  and  the  doctor  pinched  and  kissed 
the  rosy  cheeks  that  were  full  of  life  and 
health. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DINNER    AT    GRANDPAPA'S. 

THE  dinner  was  so  nice  !  Grandpapa 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  grand- 
mamma at  his  right  hand,  and  the  little 
people  all  around,  and  queenly  Dorcas 
in  her  turban  standing  near  to  help. 

"  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japheth,"  said  Rob, 
as  he  noticed  the  beautiful  brown  hip,  with 
the  pinches  of  pepper  here  and  there,  and 
the  garniture  of  green  parsley. 

Lily  looked  reprovingly  at  him. 

"Mamma  says  there  is  nothing  that 
shows  one's  good  or  bad  breeding  like 
manners  at  table,"  she  said,  in  a  half 
whisper,  as  ahe  sat  next  her  brother. 

Grandmamma  encouraged  the   children 


DINNER  AT  GRANDPAPA'S.  59 

to  talk  about  pleasant  things.  She  always 
liked  meal-time  to  be  made  a  very 
genial,  social  occasion.  "  The  act  of  eat- 
ing is  so  animal,"  she  said,  "  that  we  ought 
to  season  our  food  with  sprightly  con- 
versation." 

So  the  little  people  were  full  of  lively 
chat,  and  the  knives  and  forks  kept  time 
to  the  merry  tongues. 

Rob  made  no  more  remarks  with  re- 
gard to  the  dishes,  except  when  dessert 
was  brought  on,  and  Dorcas's  splendid 
apple-dumplings  were  served.  The  old 
n egress  showed  her  teeth  for  joy.  She 
liked  praise,  as  we  all  do ;  and  besides, 
Master  Rob  was  an  especial  favorite  with 
her,  since  he  was  so  frank  and  out-spoken. 

The  children  all  clung  to  Dorcas.  She 
was  one  of  the  belonging^of  the  old 
house.  It  would  have  not  have  seemed 
grandmamma's  without  her.  How  nice  her 
kitchen  was  !  No  speck  nor  spot  of  dust 


60  MAY. 

any  where  on  wall '  or  floor ;  no  article 
out  of  place,  to  give  an  air  of  discomfort 
if  any  body  looked  about.  The  tables 
were  as  bright  as  soap  and  sand  could 
make  them  ;  and  even  the  wooden  steps, 
leading  from  the  south  door  to  the  yard, 
were  scrubbed  clean  enough  to  eat  off. 

"  Let  us  help  Dorcas  to  clear  the 
table,"  said  Lily  to  May,  as  they  arose 
from  dinner. 

Children  like  self-imposed  tasks.  If  they 
set  themselves  to  work,  they  feel  inde- 
pendent and  happy. 

May  took  a  japan  tray,  and  placed  the 
knives  and  forks  upon  it,  and  Lily  gath- 
ered up  the  spoons  in  a  tumbler.  The 
children  saved  many  steps  for  the  old  ser- 
vant. Ruth  got  a  small  broom  and  dust- 
pan and  swept  the  few  crumbs  from  under 
the  table. 

"  Kent  is  growing  very  tidy,"  she  said. 
"  He  doesn't  drop  his  crumbs  as  he  used  to.' 


DINNER  AT  GRANDPAPA'S.  61 

The  little  fellow  was  delighted.  "  I  try 
hard,  sister,"  said  he.  "You  see  I'm  a 
bigger  boy  than  I  was." 

Lily  put  the  leaves  of  the  old-fashioned 
table  down,  and  spread  the  woolen  cloth 
upon  it,  and  she  and  Ruth  moved  it  to  the 
wall,  between  the  windows.  Grandmamma 
looked  on  approvingly.  She  was  glad  to 
see  this  busy,  helpful  spirit  in  the  little 
ones. 

"  Would  you  like  to  make  pincushions 
while  the  sun  is  still  hot  ? "  she  asked. 
"  I  am  going  to  lie  down  for  an  hour. 
You  can  go  to  the  garden  when  you  please  ; 
but  it  is  wiser  to  stay  in  the  house  and  be 
quiet  for  a  little  while." 

"  Yes  ;  let  us  sew  on  the  cushions," 
said  Ruth. 

Grandmamma  got  the  basket  of  flannels 
and  ribbons  and  gay  colored  silks,  and 
showed  the  children  how  to  work.  She 
set  Rob  and  Kent  rolling  list,  and  pink- 


62  MAT. 

ing  flannel  leaves.  The  list  was  put  round 
and  round  a  thimble  as  tight  as  possible 
until  it  formed  a  roll  about  twelve  or 
fourteen  inches  in  circumference.  This 
was  neatly  covered  with  bright  silk,  and  a 
piece  of  pasteboard  of  the  same  size  was 
also  covered,  and  fastened  with  a  bow  ut 
ribbon  to  the  cushion  at  one  point,  and 
tied  with  ribbons  at  the  opposite  point. 
Between  this  lid  and  the  cushion,  the 
leaves  of  flannel  were  put  for  the  needles, 
and  the  pins  were  stuck  around  the 
edges,  while  the  thimble-nest  was  lined 
prettily. 

May  and  Lily  were  quite  expert  at  their 
needles  and  Ruth  was  improving  very  fast. 
Grandmamma  said  it  was  "  such  an  ac- 
complishment to  be  a  good  needle-woman, 
that  no  girl's  education  should  be  con- 
sidered complete  if.  she  were  not  able  to 
cut  and  make  every  sort  of  household 
garment,  as  well  as  to  contrive  many 


DINNER  AT  GRANDPAPA  'S.  63 

a  little,  tasteful  article  for  her  work-box 
and  for  her  toilet." 

"  If  I  could  have  grandmamma's  fin- 
gers," said  May,  "I  should  feel  proud 
enough  !  My  ringers  are  so  clumsy  !  — 
all  thumbs  when  I  want  to  do  any  thing 
especially  nice." 

Kent  wound  with  all  his  might,  and  Lily 
slyly  did  his  work  over  again.  She  wished 
him  to  feel  that  he  was  helping.  "  Dear 
little  fellow ! "  she  said  aside  to  May. 
"  He  looks  so  satisfied  when  he  hands  me 
a  roll  that  is  all  askew !  I  wouldn't  trou- 
ble him  for  the  world." 

Grandmamma  was  asleep  in  the  bed- 
room leading  from  the  dining-room.  The 
door  was  partly  open;  and  before  she  fell 
into  a  doze  the  little  voices  came  pleas- 
antly to  her  ears.  She  recalled  the  time, 
long  ago,  when  her  motherly  cares  began 
to  thicken  around  her,  and  her  own  little 
children  made  the  days  glad  and  merry 


64  MA  Y. 

She  thought  of  all  the  years  wherein  God 
had  led  her  gently :  helping  her  when  she 
came  to  a  steep  that  could  not  be  other- 
wise overcome,  and  encouraging  her  when 
her  heart  and  strength  would  have  failed. 
Now  she  could  lie  quietly  and  listen 
to  her  children's  children,  and  feel  the 
confidence  that  the  same  Divine  hand  that 
had  brought  her  so  far  safely  on  her 
way,  would  also  guide  them  onward  and 
upward  till  the  end  should  be  reached. 

And  so  she  fell  asleep  with  this  sweet 
trust  in  her  heart.  Of  course  her  dreams 
were  peaceful. 

Little  Kent's  head  drooped  over  his 
work,  and  Lily  took  him  in  her  arms  and 
laid  him  on  the  sofa.  The  young  people 
kept  very  quiet,  in  order  not  to  awaken 
him  or  grandmamma. 

How  drowsy  the  summer  air  was  !  The 
stillness  affected  the  children  almost  like 
night-time.  The  tall  clock  in  the  cornei 


DINNER  AT  GRANDPAPA'S.  65 

seemed  to  tick  lazily ;  and  the  bees  in  the 
vines  outside  the  windows  hummed  a  sort 
of  lullaby.  Ruth  was  overcome,  and  drop- 
ped needle  and  thimble,  and  curled  her- 
self up  in  grandmamma's  chair  for  a  nap. 

"  We  shall  all  be  asleep  in  two  minutes, 
at  this  rate,"  said  May.  "Supposing  we 
three  go  to  the  lumber  yard  for  a  saunter, 
and  shake  ourselves  up  a  little." 

Lily  and  Rob  were  pleased  with  the 
idea,  and  off  they  went.  Grandpapa  sat 
writing  in  his  study  up-stairs.  He  put 
his  head  out  of  the  window  and  called 
as  they  went  from  the  gate,  "Don't 
go  far  away,  I  like  to  hear  your  voices 
about  the  house"  and  garden." 

The  children  kissed  their  hands  to  him, 
and  promised  to  stay  within  sight  of  the 
premises. 
5 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   LUMBER-YARD. 

THE  lumber-yard  was  only  a  few 
rods  distant,  where  many  a  ship 
had  been  built  in  former  years.  Piles 
upon  piles  of  boards  were  seasoning  for 
use.  Some  were  long  and  some  short ; 
forming  little  shady  nooks  where  the 
young  people  could  be  sheltered  from  the 
sun,  while  they  went  gently  up  and  down 
with  the  pleasant  motion  of  the  see-saw. 

"  I  like  the  scent  of  the  wood,"  said 
May  ;  "  it  is  so  fresh  and  clean." 

"  Do  you  know  what  sort  of  a  tree  these 
planks  are  made  of,  cousin  May?"  asked 
Rob. 

"  Pine.     You  can  tell  that  by  the  smell. 


TEE  LUMBER-YARD.  67 

can't  you  ?  Grandpapa  says  that  kind  of 
wood  is  used  more  for  houses  and  common 
furniture  than  any  other.  There  comes 
grandpapa  now  !  I  thought  he  could  not 
stay  long  in  his  study,  without  hunting  us 
up." 

Rob  went  to  meet  him.  "  We  want  you 
to  sit  in  one  of  the  '  cubby-houses '  and 
tell  us  something  about  the  pine-trees,"  he 
said.  "  Will  you  ?  " 

"  What  about  them  ?  " 

"  All  you  know,  grandpapa." 

May  gave  place  to  him  between  herself 
and  Lily,  and  Rob  sat  on  the  end  of  a 
board  at  his  feet. 

"You've  all  seen  pine-trees.  I  believe 
you  can  tell  me  a  great  many  things 
about  them  ;  —  think." 

"  They're  evergreen,"  said  May. 

"  Yes ;  and  therefore  form  a  beautiful 
winter  tree,  making  us  glad  with  summer 


68  MA7. 

memories  when  the  snow  has  covered  the 
earth." 

"  They  belong  to  the  fir  family,  do  they 
not  ? "  said  Lily. 

"That  is  true,"  replied  grandpapa; 
"  and  a  great  family  it  is,  too.  Pines,  firs, 
cypresses,  hemlocks,  junipers,  larches, 
yews,  and  spruces.  They  inhabit  all  parts 
of  the  world.  They  grow  where  nothing 
else  will ;  —  in  the  cold  regions  where  the 
Esquimaux  live,  and  in  hot  countries  also. 
To  be  sure  they  have  a  stunted  growth 
where  the  cold  is  intense,  but  some  of 
our  New  England  white  pines  are  nearly 
two  hundred  feet  high." 

"  What  pretty  cones  the  pine  bears ! " 
said  May. 

"  The  cone  is  shaped  like  a  pine-apple," 
said  grandpapa ;  "  or,  rather,  the  pine-apple 
is  shaped  like  a  pine  cone,  and  takes  its 
name  from  this  fact,  I  suppose.  This  cone 


THE  LUMBER-YARD.  69 

has  little  wooden  scales,  one  row  below 
the  other,  and  at  the  bottom  of  each  scale 
lie  two  seeds.  When  quite  ripe  the  scales 
open,  and  the  seeds  drop  out  and  sow 
themselves  in  the  ground." 

"  That's  nice,"  said  Rob.  "  It  keeps  the 
young  trees  growing  as  fast  as  the  old 
ones  are  cut  down." 

"  The  white  pine  is  used  for  a  greater 
variety  of  purposes  than  any  other,"  said 
grandpapa,  "  because  it  is  soft  and  easy  to 
work,  and  is  a  cheap  wood.  Carvers  can 
ornament  it  without  much  trouble,  and 
pictures  and  looking-glass  frames  are 
made  of  it,  it  receives  gilding  so  well. 
But  the  yellow,  or  spruce  pine,  is  consid- 
ered much  more  valuable,  and  what  is 
called  the  '  long-leaved '  is  worth  still 
more.  All  our  resin,  tar,  pitch,  and  tur- 
pentine come  from  this  species." 

"  Where  does  the  long-leaved  pine 
grow  ?  "  asked  Rob. 


70  MA  Y. 

"  It  is  first  found  about  Norfolk,  Vir- 
ginia, and  thence  it  extends  through  the 
Carolinas,  Georgia,  and  Florida,  in  great 
forests." 

"  How  sweet  the  odor  from  the  leaves 
must  be  !  "  said  May.  "  I  think  it  is  per- 
fectly refreshing  to  be  near  pine  woods." 

"  There  are  various  names  given  to  this 
long-leaved  species,"  said  grandpapa.  "  In 
the  places  where  it  grows  it  is  called 
'yellow/  and  'pitch,'  and  'brown  pine;' 
and  in  the  North  we  speak  of  it  as  '  south- 
ern' or  'red  pine  ; '  and  in  England,  and 
the  West  Indies,  they  say  '  Georgia  pitch 
pine '  and  '  deal.'  It  grows  nearly  as  high 
as  our  white  pine  and  has  a  very  thick 
trunk  and  large  cones.  Wounds  are  made 
in  the  trunk,  and  the  turpentine  runs  out. 
Some  of  this  hardens  before  it  reaches  the 
'  boxes/  as  the  incisions  are  named  which 
receive  it,  and  this  is  called  '  scrapings.' 

"  Resin,  tar,  and  pitch  have  to  undergo 


THE  LUMBER-YARD.  71 

the  action  of  fire  to  change  their  nature. 
Large  quantities  of  these  products  of  the 
long-leaved  pine  are  sent  to  the  northern 
states,  and  also  to  Great  Britain  and 
France." 

"  You  say  this,  that  we  are  sitting  on, 
is  white  pine,  grandpapa  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Our  lumber  used  to  come  prin 
cipally  from  Maine,  and  the  shores  of 
Lake  Champlain,  but  the  north-west  fur- 
nishes an  immense  quantity  now." 

"  Isn't  it  hard  work  to  get  it  ? "  asked 
Rob. 

"  Pretty  severe.  The  lumber-men  have 
to  leave  home  comforts,  and  suffer  a  good 
many  hardships.  They  go  to  the  forests 
in  the  beginning  of  winter,  and  live  in  log 
huts  covered  with  bark.  When  the  trees 
are  felled  and  cut  into  logs,  they  are 
marked  with  the  owner's  name  and  drawn 
to  the  nearest  river.  As  the  ice  breaks 


72  MA  Y. 

up,  the  logs  float  down  the  current  to 
their  destination.  There  is  one  thing  I 
wish  you  to  remember,  and  that  is,  logs 
should  be  stripped  of  their  bark  in  order 
to  remain  long  uninjured  ;  otherwise, 
worms  destroy  them." 

"  That's  worth  knowing,"  said  Rob. 
"  Perhaps  I  shall  be  a  lumber-merchant 
one  of  these  days,  and  then  I'll  have  all 
my  logs  peeled." 

The  Champlain  lumber  goes  down  the 
St.  Lawrence,  doesn't  it  ? "  asked  May. 

"Yes  ;  to  Quebec  some  of  it ;  and  some 
is  conveyed  through  the  canal  to  New 
York.  It  is  not  very  difficult  to  transport 
the  lumber.  The  logs  are  the  main  trou- 
ble. They  are  generally  floated  singly, 
though  sometimes  large  rafts  are  made  of 
them,  and  men  float  upon  them.  I  have 
seen  many  on  the  Mississippi.  If  they  get 
wedged  in  too  narrow  a  part  of  the  river, 


THE  LUMBER-YARD.  73 

the  men  divide  the  sections,  for  they  are 
put  together  in  certain  widths,  and  thus 
fhe  difficulty  is  overcome." 

"  What  is  the  best  wood  for  shingles  ? " 
asked  Rob. 

"  Cypress,"  leplied  grandpapa.  "  I  want 
to  tell  you  of  one  species  of  pine  that 
grows  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and 
then  I  must  be  about  my  business.  I 
believe  I  should  like  to  be  a  child  again, 
and  forget  all  my  sick  people,  and  think  of 
nothing  but  to  sit  here  on  the  lumber  all 
day." 

The  children  liked  that  in  grandpapa. 
It  made  them  think  more  of  their  privil- 
eges to  know  that  he  valued  them. 

"  But  you've  had  your  day,  grandpapa," 

"  That's  true  ;  and  a  merry  day,  too," 
said  the  doctor.  "I  was  a  lively  lad 
enough,  they  say." 

"What  about  the  Rocky  Mountain 
pine  ? "  asked  Lily. 


74  MAT. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  pure  amber-col- 
ored resin  said  her  grandfather.  "  When 
the  trees  are  partly  burned  it  acquires 
a  sweet  taste,  and  the  natives  use  it  for 
sugar.  The  coarse  seeds  they  eat,  either 
roasted,  or  pounded  into  coarse  cakes,  and 
it  is  saved  for  the  winter  season.  There  is 
on  the  borders  of  the  Mediterranean 
another  species  of  pine,  singular  on  ac- 
count of  its  seeds,  which  have  a  flavor 
like  almonds,  and  which  frequently  make 
their  appearance  on  the  table.  Now  I 
must  go  ;  for  I  see  Mr.  Magill  coming  up 
the  road  to  the  house,  and  I  know  what 
that  means.  Hannah  has  another  of  her 
spasms.  Good-bye  to  you  all,"  and  grand- 
papa hopped  from  level  to  level  of  the 
lumber-pile  as  springy  as  if  he  were  only 
of  Rob's  age. 

The  children  had  a  clear  view  of  the 
back  door,  and  May  espied  Dorcas  stand- 
ing with  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and 


THE  LUMBER-YARD.  75 

looking  eagerly  out.  They  waved  their 
handkerchiefs  to  attract  her  notice,  and 
she  beckoned  them  home. 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  CHICKEN'S   FUNERAL. 

KENT  was  crying  for  Lily.  He 
thought  she  had  gone  to  New 
York  and  left  him,  and  Ruth  could  not 
pacify  him.  Only  Lily's  face  could  make 
him  sure  that  he  was  not  deserted. 

The  little  fellow  sat  in  the  old  arm- 
chair sobbing  as  though  his  heart  would 
break,  and  Rrth  ana  grandmamma,  re- 
freshed bv  sle.  p,  were  trying  their  best 
to  comfort  him. 

He  had  been  away  in  dream-land,  ana 
was  in  that  misty  sort  of  state  that  chil- 
dren often  feel  when  they  first  awake  from 
a  day  nap.  It  is  neither  murning  nor 
night  with  them.  Their  world  has  had  i 


THE  CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL.  77 

certain  break  in  it,  and  they  are  puzzled 
how  to  put  it  together  again.  Lily  sup- 
plied the  missing  piece.  Kent  looked  up 
smiling  as  soon  as  she  appeared.  She 
held  him  gently  upon  her  lap,  and  told 
him  pleasant  stories  until  his  sorrow  had 
passed  away,  and  then  she  washed  his 
flushed  face,  and  brushed  his  tumbled  hair, 
and  went  with  him  and  Ruth  into  the 
garden. 

The  breeze  came  freshly  from  the 
water,  and,  laden  with  the  sweet  odors 
from  the  garden,  it  floated  around  the 
children. 

Grandmamma  was  walking  about,  bend- 
ing over  her  plants,  which  were  her  pride 
and  joy.  They  seemed  to  know  and  love 
her,  and  to  give  back  in  precious  fragrance 
a  recompense  for  all  her  Care  of  them. 

Lily  seated  Kent  on  the  green  grass  on 
the  top  of  the  bank  by  the  big  willow, 
where  he  could  look  from  between  the  lilac 


78  MA  r. 

bushes  at  the  white  sail-boats  gliding  over 
the  waters.  She  gave  him  some  larkspur 
blossoms,  and  showed  him  how  to  make 
a  wreath  by  putting  one  flower  inside 
another.  They  are  so  pretty  when  pres- 
sed! 

May  and  Ruth  were  as  busy  as  they 
could  be,  constructing  a  burial  ground. 
They  had  formed  mounds  and  covered 
them  with  grass,  and  put  up  headstones, 
and  stuck  bits  of  bushes  in  the  ground  for 
trees,  and  scattered  flowers  upon  the  lit- 
tle graves.  They  seemed  to  have  no 
somber  views  with  regard  to  the  last 
sleeping-place,  but  were  talking  pleasantly. 

"It  will  be  just  as  if  we  were  in  our 
own  snug  bed  at  home,"  said  May.  "  God 
will  be  watching  over  us,  and  in  the  morn- 
ing we  shall  awake  glad  and  happy,  and  so 
rested  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ruth,  "  and  we  shall  never 
be  tired  any  more;  that's  a  good  thing. 


THE  CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL.  73 

Whatever  we  have  to  do,  it  will  be  such 
work  as  will  not  tire.  Sometimes  my 
bones  ache  here,  if  I  only  stoop  down  for 
a  little  while  to  weed  the  strawberry  bed." 

"  You  know  that  dead  chicken  we  saw 
in  the  hen-house  to-day  ? "  said  May  a 
sudden  thought  coming  to  her  mind. 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  let  us  bury  it  under  the  lilac 
bush.  I've  got  a  tin  box  that  siedlitz- 
powders  were  in.  We'll  put  it  in  that. 
You  get  the  chicken,  while  I  get  the  box, 
please." 

Ruth  brought  the  little,  yellow,  downy 
thing  tenderly  in  her  apron.  She  sat  and 
held  it  till  May  came.  She  thought  of  it 
sorrowfully.  The  tiny  creature,  so  full  of 
life  in  the  early  morning,  pecking  its  food., 
and  running  hither  and  thither  at  tho 
mother  hen's  call,  now  so  limp  and  cold 
and  dead. 

'•  It  is  a  pity,"  she  said  to  May,  as  they 


80  MAY. 

placed  it  in  the  midst  of  the  cotton  ;  "  it 
might  have  grown  up  to  be  a  speckled 
hen,  and  lay  whole  nests  full  of  eggs." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rob,  coming  up  at  this 
moment,  and  seeing  and  hearing,  "  and 
the  end  would  have  been  to  have  its  head 
cut  off,  and  be  eaten  for  somebody's 
dinner." 

The  boy  took  a  practical  view  of  the 
case,  and  it  comforted  Ruth  greatly. 

"  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  she  said.  "  I 
believe  I  am  rather  glad,  than  otherwise, 
that  it  died.  We'll  make  a  nice  little 
grave  here  under  the  lilac,  and,  Rob,  you 
get  a  board  and  print  the  name  with  your 
pencil." 

So   Rob   ran    to   the    lumber-yard    and 
brought  a  narrow  shingle,  which    one  of 
the  men  gave  him,  and  printed  on  it, — 
"  OUR  PET  CHICKEN." 

The  old  mother  hen  went  often  to  the 
place  afterwards,  and  scratched  all  round 


THE  CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL.  81 

the  little  mound,  but  she  never  once 
dreamed  that  one  of  her  own  offspring 
was  there. 

"  If  these  creatures  felt  their  loss,  and 
lamented  it  as  people  do,  what  a  sad  world 
this  would  be  ! " 

May  was  apt  to  moralize  over  little 
things.  She  said  this  solemnly,  as  the 
unconscious  hen  came  with  her  surviving 
brood  to  pick  the  bugs  and  worms  from 
the  earth  that  had  been  freshly  dug. 

Lily  had  strolled  away  to  have  a  quiet 
talk  with  grandmamma,  who  was  sitting  on 
a  rustic  bench  with  her  herbarium  on  her 
lap.  The  old  lady  had  a  fine  collection  of 
pressed  flowers  and  leaves,  to  which  she 
was  adding  from  new  plants  lately  culti- 
vated. She  had  a  way  of  keeping  the 
colors  fresh  by  covering  the  blossoms 
with  sand  until  all  the  moisture  was 
absorbed,  and  then  she  would  remove 
6 


82  MA  T. 

them  and  put  them  in  her  book,  or  else 
tie  them  in  tasteful  bouquets  for  vases. 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  have  your 
patience,  grandmamma,"  said  Lily.  "  I 
like  beautiful  things,  but  I  don't  want  very 
much  trouble  to  get  them." 

"  When  the  heart  is  in  any  work,  one 
does  not  think  it  a  task,"  said  grand- 
mamma. "  It  is  so  pleasant  to  me  to  have 
the  productions  of  nature  about  me  that  1 
am  impelled  to  seek  them,  and  while  I  am 
preparing  my  leaves  and  flowers  I  think 
of  nothing  but  the  joy  that  they  will  bring 
in  the  season  when  the  earth  is  covered 
with  frost  and  snow,  and  I  have  no  blos- 
soming garden  to  walk  in." 

"  Did  you  like  this  sort  of  pleasure  when 
you  were  as  young  as  I  am  ? " 

"  Yes,  dear.  My  room  was  full  of  spe- 
cimens from  forest  and  dell  and  garden. 
I  lived  amidst  nature." 


THE  CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL.  83 

"It  is  more  sensible  than  wax-work," 
said  Lily. 

"  I  have  seen  some  exquisite  imitations 
in  wax-work,"  replied  her  grandmother ; 
"  but  they  do  not  satisfy  me.  God's  ringer 
is  not  in  them  as  in  these." 

"  Who  made  the  fruit  that  is  in  the 
glass  case  in  the  parlor  chamber  ? " 

"  That's  your  Aunt  Hannah's  work.  It 
was  a  sort  of  mania  among  the  young  folks 
at  one  time." 

"  The  peaches  and  cherries  and  bar- 
berries are  very  natural." 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  never  fancied  any  thing 
of  the  kind  shut  up  within  four  glass  walls. 
I  should  prefer  them  on  branches,  hung 
about  the  room,  if  at  all." 

"  Hark ! "  said  Lily,  bending  her  head  to 
listen  more  intently,  "we  can  hear  the 
Newport  Beach."  So  the  children  called 
it  when  the  sound  of  the  great  ocean  waves 
reached  them  from  the  distant  shore. 


84  if  AT. 

"We  are  going  to  have  a  storm,"  said 
grandmamma.     "  *  The  sea  and  the   waves 
roaring,'  —  that    always    betokens    it.      I 
never  knew  it  to  fail  when  that  sound  is 
heard." 

Lily  looked  across  the  cove,  beyond  the 
green  strip  of  land  with  the  white  light- 
house on  the  point,  to  the  bay,  that  seemed 
agitated.  It  tossed  the  boats  as  if  impa- 
tient to  get  them  to  their  haven.  Above 
it  the  gulls  flapped  their  wings  and  went 
wildly  to  and  fro.  It  looked  like  a  crazy, 
bewildered  flight,  —  so  restless. 

"  I  wish  they  would  stop,"  said  Lily. 

"What?" 

"  The  birds,  —  their  flying.  It  makes 
my  heart  flutter  to  see  them.  What  weary 
time  Noah's  dove  must  have  had  before 
it  returned  to  the  ark." 

"  We  all  have  a  weary  time  when  we  go 
out  from  our  sure  refuge,"  said  grandmam- 
ma. "We  wander  over  cheerless  waters 


THE   CHICKEN'S  FUNERAL.  85 

for  a  while,  and  then  are  glad  to  return 
unto  our  rest." 

"  You  mean  when  we  go  away  from 
God,  and  seek  our  pleasure  in  the  world, 
and  are  never  satisfied  nor  happy  till  we 
come  back  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  darling." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  PURCHASES. 

"T  "\  TE  haven't  spent  our  money  yet," 

V  V  said  Rob,  whose  ten-cent  piece 
burned  in  his  pocket.  "  Let  us  ask  grand- 
mother if  we  can  go  down  street." 

Mary  and  Ruth  and  he  had  finished 
rounding  the  chicken's  grave,  and  were 
tired  of  their  play  in  the  garden,  and  time 
began  to  drag  wearily. 

Rob  had  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to 
get  a  string  for  little  Kent  to  make  a 
whip-lash,  and  so  was  reminded  of  the 
silver  piece  which  his  fingers  touched. 

Grandmamma  was  willing  the  children 
should  go  as  far  as  the  store  by  the 
bridge. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  PURCHASES  87 

"  Can't  we  go  to  Uncle  Noah's,  just 
round  the*  corner  ?  "  asked  Ruth.  "  He 
has  the  prettiest  things !  and  we  will  be 
careful  of  Kent,  and  keep  hold  of  his  han  d 
all  the  way." 

It  is  not  easy  to  resist  the  pleadings  of 
little  children,  when  they  are  good,  if  they 
ask  any  thing  reasonable ;  so  grand- 
mamma said,  "  Yes.  But  do  not  stay  long. 
The  afternoon  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
you  must  go  home  before  dark,  and  I  want 
you  for  a  little  while  all  to  myself  in  the 
portico.  You  must  get  cooled  and  calmed 
after  the  heat  and  tumult  of  the  day." 

It  was  the  good  old  lady's  habit  to 
gather  her  grandchildren  around  her,  and 
talk  to  them  before  parting.  Not  in  a  dry, 
sermonizing  way,  but  in  a  degree  after  the 
manner  of  the  Perfect  Master,  who  taught 
his  disciples  from  the  natural  objects 
before  him. 

"  What  shall  you  buy  ? "  was  the  ques- 


88  MAT. 

tion  that  the  children  asked  each  other 
as  they  went  down  the  villag?  street,  a 
rich  and  merry  party ;  but  nobody  knew 
until  the  store  was  reached,  and  the 
beautiful  goods  were  displayed. 

Uncle  Noah  peered  at  the  young  folks 
over  his  spectacles,  and  waited  upon  them 
with  as  much  patience  and  politeness  as 
if  his  fortune  depended  upon  their  pur- 
chases. He  handed  up  tops  and  balls,  and 
witches  and  beads,  and  tiny  smelling-bot- 
tles, and  ducks  in  little  boats  that  would 
float  on  the  water,  and  fishes  'with  a 
magnet  to  make  them  seem  alive  as  they 
followed  it  in  a  full  basin. 

May  bought  a  perfume-bag  to  send  to 
her  mother  by  Rob,  and  a  bunch  of  beads 
for  her  new  needle-book.  She  wanted  to 
work  her  name  on  the  covers.  Lily  got 
some  pencils,  and  a  small  drawing-book. 
She  could  copy  very  well  from  leaves  and 
flowers,  and  it  was  a  real  delight  to  her. 


TEE  CHILDREN'S  PURCHASES.  89 

Rob  hesitated  between  a  top  and  a  slate, 
but  finally  decided  that  he  should  soon  get 
tired  of  a  top,  that  could  only  do  one  thing, 
and  that  a  slate  would  be  a  constant 
source  of  pleasure,  because  he  could  vary 
the  delight  by  all  sorts  of  games,  as  well 
as  by  drawing  and  ciphering.  "  It  was 
a  wise  choice,"  Lily  told  him. 

Ruth  chose  a  witch  for  a  little  lame  girl, 
who  lived  next  door  to  the  place  where 
she  was  boarding  for  the  summer,  and 
for  herself  some  beads  ;  for  she  meant 
to  work  a  needle-book  like  Cousin  May's. 
It  was  so  kind  of  her  to  think  of  poor 
Mattie  Dinker,  who  had  to  sit  in  an  easy- 
chair  all  the  time,  and  could  never  go 
down  to  Uncle  Noah's,  even  if  she  had 
any  pennies  to  buy  things  with,  which  was 
very  seldom  the  case. 

Kent  liked  the  fishes,  and  that  was  his 
his  purchase.  He  took  out  his  coin  with 
the  air  of  a  nabob,  and  felt  that  he  had 


90  MAT. 

swelled  Uncle  Noah's  coffers  very  much 
by  his  ten-cent  patronage.  Dear  little 
fellow!  I  doubt  if  a  thousand  dollars,  now 
that  he  is  a  grown  man  and  prosperous 
in  business,  are  as  precious  to  him  as  that 
ten-cent  piece  was ! 

When  we  are  young,  and  full  of  the 
sweet  simplicity  and  artlessness  of  child- 
hood, every  good  and  every  pleasure  are 
magnified.  We  make  the  most  of  them  ; 
but  when  we  are  older,  and  have  seen 
much  of  the  world,  our  estimate  of  things 
is  changed.  Great  things  seem  small,  and 
our  eyes  and  hearts  are  constantly  looking 
out  and  reaching  toward  larger  and  better. 

The  contentment  of  our  early  years  is 
very  beautiful.  We  go  back  to  it  and 
live  in  it  after  we  have  grown  up,  and 
we  are  born  again,  and  become  as  little 
children. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OLD    ROAN. 

GRANDPAPA  overtook  the  merry 
party  as  he  was  returning  from 
Hannah  Magill's.  He  saw  the  purchases 
in  their  hands,  and  knew  very  well  how 
much  happiness  his  morning's  gift  had 
conferred. 

"  Hop  in,"  said  he  to  Ruth,  as  she 
turned  her  head  at  the  sound  of  old 
Roan's  hoofs,  and  stood  waiting  until  the 
carriage  stopped  beside  her. 

"  Rob,  put  your  cousin  Kent  in,  and  you, 
Lily,  and  Mary  can  walk." 
"  Roan  smells  his  hay,  doesn't  he,  grand- 
?  "  asked  Ruth,  as  the  cunning  fellow 


92  MAY. 

pricked  up  his  ears  and  went  briskly  to- 
wards home. 

"Yes,  indeed.  It  would  be  well  to  tie 
a  bundle  of  it  to  his  nose,  when  his  face  is 
in  the  other  direction,  and  I  am  in  a  hurry 
to  get  to  my  patients." 

That  amused  Kent  very  much.  "Try 
it,  grandpapa,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  knows  too  much  to  be 
cheated,"  replied  grandpapa.  "  He  has 
gone  over  the  road,  back  and  forth,  so 
many  times  in  his  life,  that  every  house  is 
familiar,  and  you  couldn't  make  him  be- 
lieve his  barn  was  in  any  other  place  than 
exactly  where  it  stands." 

"  Roan  has  been  a  faithful  servant  to 
you,  grandpapa,  hasn't  he  ? "  said  Ruth. 

"  Yes  ;  and  a  good  friend.  Many  a  dark 
night,  when  I  could  not  see  my  hand  be- 
fore me,  I  have  given  him  the  reins,  and 
he  has  guided  me  safely  home." 


OLD  ROAN.  93 

"  How  nice  that  was  !  "  said  Ruth. 

"  I  have  heard  of  a  horse's  taking  a  blind 
musician  from  house  to  house  for  the  pur- 
pose of  giving  lessons,  and  always  setting 
him  down  at  the  right  place,"  said  grand- 
papa ;  "  and  I  know  a  teamster  who  fas- 
tens his  bridle  around  his  arm  and  goes  to 
sleep,  walking  along  beside  his  horses, 
who  lead  him  without  guidance  to  his 
proper  destination." 

Ruth  looked  at  Roan  with  more  respect 
than  she  had  ever  done  before,  and  patted 
him  gently,  as  grandpapa  lifted  Kent  and 
her  from  the  chaise. 

"  He's  a  noble  did  fellow,"  she  said.  "  I 
didn't  know  horses  could  do  so  much." 

"A  horse  is  man's  best  friend  among 
the  animals,"  said  grandpapa.  "  A  dog 
is  more  like  an  inferior.  He  will  fawn 
upon  you,  and  fight  for  you,  and  watch 
and  defend  your  property.  He  is  a  worthy 
and  valuable  creature ;  but  the  spirit  of  a 


94  MAY. 

horse  is  not  a  fawning  one.  He  is  more 
a  companion  than  a  servant.  He  erects 
his  ears,  and  arches  his  neck,  and  neighs 
in  such  a  hearty,  grateful  way  when  you 
approach  him,  that  you  are  almost  as  glad 
of  his  welcome  greeting  as  of  a  human 
being's  joy  at  your  coming." 

"  Let  me  give  Roan  his  supper  ?  "  asked 
Rob,  who  had  come  up  to  the  gate,  and 
been  listening  to  his  grandfather. 

"  You  can  go  with  me,  if  you  like.  I 
have  to  crush  some  corn  for  him." 

"  Why  do  you  not  give  it  to  him  whole  ? " 

"  His  teeth  can  not  chew  fine  grain  very 
well,  and  if  it  gets  into  his  stomach  whole 
it  gives  him  little  or  no  nourishment." 

"  What  a  beautiful  tail  Roan  has  ! "  said 

• 

Rob,  as  the  horse  was  detached  from  the 
chaise  and  led  into  the  stable. 

"  Yes.  The  sultan  would  give  a  gooc> 
deal  for  such  a  tail  as  that,"  said  grand 
papa 


OLD  ROAN.  95 

"  What  would  he  want  of  it  ? " 

"The  Ottomans  and  the  Tartars  use 
the  horse's  tail  for  a  standard,"  replied 
grandpapa.  "  It  is  a  sign  of  distinction, 
also  for  their  commanders ;  the  number 
of  horse-tails  carried  before  them  and 
planted  before  their  tents  being  in  propor- 
tion to  their  rank.  The  sultan,  or  highest 
ruler,  has  seven  horse-tails  in  war,  the 
grand  vizier  three,  two,  or  one." 

"Why  do  they  chose  such  a  funny 
standard  ? " 

"  The  reason  is  said  to  be  this.  Once 
they  lost  all  their  ensigns  in  battle,  and 
the  commander  fastened  a  horse's  tail  to 
his  lance,  rallied  his  troops,  and  conquered, 
and  after  that  it  was  always  honored  and 
used.  The  Turkish  horse-tail  consists  of 
a  pole  with  one  or  more  tails  attached,  and 
other  ornaments  of  horse-hair  surmounted 
by  a  crescent." 

"  I  should  like  that,"  said  Rob. 


96  MAY. 

"Better  than  the  stars  and  stripes  ?" 
"  Oh,  no  !  Nothing  better  than  our  own 
dear  old  flag!  Hurrah  for  the  'red, 
white,  and  blue ! ' "  shouted  the  patriotic 
boy,  throwing  his  cap  high  in  the  air,  to  the 
great  excitement  of  Roan,  upon  whose 
head  it  fell  as  he  was  quietly  eating  his 
supper. 


CHAPTER  X. 
GRANDMAMMA'S  TALK. 

AFTER  the  children  had  enjoyed 
their  nice  meal  of  white  bread  and 
butter,  and  fresh  berries  and  little  cakes, 
—  hearts  and  rounds,  which  Dorcas  had 
baked  for  them  the  day  before,  —  they 
went  to  the  portico  for  their  quiet  talk 
with  grandmamma. 

It  was  almost  a  room,  it  was  so  large 
and  square,  with  seats  on  two  sides,  and 
green  blinds  to  keep  out  the  sun ;  and  with 
the  "  twivel-twine "  clasping  one  pillar 
and  running  up  with  a  wealth  of  foliage 
to  spread  out  in  beautiful  and  graceful  cur- 
tains over  the  lattice  work,  and  to  cover 
the  roof  and  keep  it  cool.  The  jessamine 

7 


98  MAT. 

too,  with  its  delicate  blossoms,  clustered 
over  another  pillar,  and  wooed  the  insects 
to  sip  from  the  little  cups. 

Close  by,  a  summer  pippin,  full  of 
green  apples,  cast  its  shadow ;  and  the 
fence  that  shut  off  the  road  leading  to  the 
water  was  lined  with  rose-bushes  and 
syringas.  The  sound  of  the  roaring  waves 
over  the  bay  was  more  and  more  distinct 
as  the  night  drew  on  and  other  sounds 
were  stilled.  There  was  a  quiet,  subdued 
air  over  the  village,  and  it  came  upon  the 
little  ones  as  well ;  nothing  sad  or  solemn, 
but  restful  and  very  pleasant  after  the 
warm,  busy  hours  of  the  day. 

"Almost  time  to  go  home,  isn't  it, 
grandmamma  ? "  said  Kent,  leaning  heav- 
ily on  the  old  lady's  knee,  and  looking  up 
into  her  face. 

"Yes,  dearie.  Have  you  had  a  happy 
time?" 

"  Buful !     'Specially  the  kittens." 


GRANDMAMMA'S  TALK.  99 

The  little  fellow  never  tired  of  the  two 
household  pets,  that  allowed  all  sorts  of 
liberties  from  him,  even  the  harnessing  of 
them  into  a  tiny  wagon  to  draw  grass  and 
earth. 

"  Then  you  like  grandmamma's  house  ?  " 

"Pretty  much,"  returned  Kent.  "I 
should  wish  to  stay  here  always." 

Lily  lifted  him  upon  the  bench  beside 
her,  and  put  her  arm  around  him. 

"  Grandmamma,"  said  she,  "  it  is  very 
nice  for  us  to  come  here  every  Saturday 
and  enjoy  ourselves  so  much.  Is  it  pleas- 
ant for  you,  too  ? " 

"Yes,  indeed,  child.  What  makes  you 
ask?  Grandparents  and  mothers  and 
fathers  live  in  their  grandchildren  and 
children.  It  would  be  a  dull  world  with- 
out them." 

"  I'm  glad  you  think  so.  I  was  afraid 
we  had  all  the  fun,  and  you  nothing  but 
the  trouble." 


100  if  AT. 

She  was  a  thoughtful  child,  and  was 
wondering  if  they  had  given  any  thing  in 
return  for  the  joy  they  had  received. 

"  I  think  we  are  square  in  our  accounts," 
said  grandmother.  "  I'll  agree  to  tell  you 
when  you  are  in  my  debt.  That  will  be 
only  when  you  go  contrary  to  my  wishes  ; 
I  mean,  knowingly.  Sometimes  you  may  do 
things  that  I  would  not  approve  of  without 
being  aware  of  it ;  that,  of  course,  I  should 
forgive,  and  not  count ;  but  when  you  are 
sure  I  would  disapprove  of  a  thing,  and 
yet  should  do  it,  then  we  will  talk  about 
what  you  owe  me.  You  have  given  me  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  to-day,  so  that  I  shall 
look  forward  to  next  Saturday  with  impa- 
tience, and  shall  be  very  glad  when  it  is 
here." 

"  I  believe  I'm  in  debt  to  you,  grand- 
mamma," said  Ruth.  "I  went  over  to 
Polly's  this  morning  without  leave.  I 
didn't  think,  till  I  got  upon  the  door-step, 


GRANDMAMMA'S  TALK.  101 

that  you  had  told  us  always  to  ask,  and 
then  I  slipped  in  as  quick  as  I  could,  so  as 
to  forget  all  about  it ;  but  I  couldn't  for- 
get, and  didn't  stay  long,  and  I  haven't 
been  quite  happy  about  it  all  day." 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  me,  daughter.  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  do  it  again.  I  have  all 
confidence  in  my  grandchildren,  and  since 
you  have  been  so  frank  in  confessing  your 
fault,  it  is  already  crossed  out  of  my 
book." 

"  Then  I  owe  you  something  still,"  said 
Ruth,  with  an  intelligent  face  that  seemed 
to  sparkle  with  a  gleam  of  light  and  joy. 

"  What  ? "  asked  grandmamma. 

"  Plenty  of  love  and  kisses,"  said  Ruth. 
"  That  is  a  debt  that  we  all  like  to  pay  ; " 
and  she  hung  around  her  grandmamma's 
neck,  and  almost  smothered  her  with 
caresses. 

"  I  hope  our  life's  day  will  end  as  happily 
as  this,"  said  the  dear  old  lady,  "  and  that 


102  MAY. 

you  and  I  will  be  gathered  in  the  pleasant 
Home  above ! " 

"  No  night  there  !  "  said  May. 

"No  going  away  from  each  other  to 
separate  homes  to  see  no  more  of  each 
other  for  days  and  days.  That's  the  worst 
of  it  here.  Just  as  we  begin  to  have  a 
good  time,  the  darkness  comes,  and  we 
must  go  home,  or  to  bed  and  to  sleep." 

"  Look  at  the  sun,"  said  grandmamma. 
"  How  clear  he  is  setting.  The  storm 
will  not  come  to-morrow,  I  think,  but  it 
can  not  be  far  off." 

There  was  a  white-sailed  vessel  coming 
round  the  light-house  point  into  the  haven 
which  it  designed  to  reach.  The  wind 
puffed  out  its  sails  and  sent  it  along  like  a 
bird.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  drew,  until 
it  reached  the  wharf,  and  the  passengers 
began  to  disembark. 

"  They  are  glad  to  get  upon  land,"  said 
grandmamma.  "The  waves  have  been 


GRANDMAMMA'S  TALK.  103 

boisterous  to-day.  The  sea  has  always 
its  rough  moments  ;  and  it  is  good  to  feel 
the  ground  under  one's  feet  after  tossing 
to  and  fro." 

"  There's  no  danger  on  that  boat,"  said 
Rob.  "  She  has  a  splendid  captain  and 
a  good  helmsman." 

"The  sea  is  a  mighty  power  to  over- 
come," said  grandmamma.  "  There  is  but 
One  who  can  tame  it." 

The  children  knew  that  she  meant  God, 
and  that  he  holds  the  winds  and  the  waves 
in  the  hollow  of  his  hand. 

"  Now  I  think  we  shall  have  to  say 
good-night,"  said  grandmamma.  "  There 
goes  the  sun  down  into  the  blue  waves, 
and  the  night  will  soon  be  upon  us  ;  but 
the  twilight  is  so  long  that  you  can  reach 
home  safely  before  dark,  and  I  preferred 
you  should  wait  till  it  became  cool.  Lily, 
get  Kent's  hat  from  the  high  nail,  please, 
and  reach  Ruth's  bonnet  for  her." 


104  MAT. 

Grandpapa  had  been  reading  his  news- 
paper by  the  sitting-room  window,  which 
overlooked  the  portico.  He  had  not  been 
unmindful  of  what  was  going  on  there,  and 
he  came  out  to  give  the  children  a  parting 
kiss,  and  to  caution  them  about  crossing 
the  bridge,  as  was  his  custom. 

"  Don't  go  near  the  railing,"  he  said. 

He  and  grandmamma  and  May  went  to 
the  gate  and  watched  them  as  they  set 
off. 

"  Rob,"  said  May,  "  give  mother  the 
perfume-bag  the  first  thing  when  you  get 
home,  and  a  thousand  kisses  for  me !  " 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ROB. 

ROB  went  as  far  the  corner  with  his 
cousins,  and  then  they  turned  to 
the  left  and  went  up  the  hill,  and  he  to 
the  right,  going  down  towards  the  water. 
Ruth  saw  Mattie  Dinker  sitting  in  her 
easy-chair  by  the  window.  The  child's 
face  was  very  pale,  and  she  looked  as  if 
she  would  like  to  be  one  of  the  little  group 
that  tripped  along  with  such  free  footsteps. 
She  was  thinking  how  nice  it  must  be  to 
have  joints  that  would  move  in  their  sock- 
ets, and  obey  when  their  owner  said  I  will 
go  hither  or  thither;  for  she  spoke  her 
thoughts  aloud. 


106  MAY. 

"  Mother,  if  I  could  only  walk  as  other 
littJe  children  do  ! " 

"And  so  you  will,  Mattie,  in  God's 
good  time.  Perhaps  not  in  this  life.  We 
must  have  patience." 

Just  then  Ruth  came  close  to  the  win- 
dow, and  handed  her  the  witch.  "  It  turns 
a  splendid  somersault;  —  see!"  said  she, 
setting  it  down  on  the  window-sill. 

The  bright,  little  thing  gave  a  leap,  and 
went  over  into  Mattie's  lap,  and  amused 
her  very  much. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  How  good 
you  are  ! " 

Ruth  had  a  little  struggle  with  herself 
for  a  second.  Something  said,  "  Give  the 
lame  girl  a  string  of  your  beads.  She 
will  like  them  better  than  the  witch,  and 
will  take  real  comfort  with  them." 

"  I  want  them  all  for  myself,"  said  Ruth 
to  the  voice  that  had  spoken.  Yet  she 


BOB.  107 

slowly  undid   the  paper,  and   took  out  a 
string  and  held  them  up. 

Mattie's  eyes  glistened.  "  For  me  ? " 
she  said. 

Ruth  was  so  glad  she  didn't  resist  the 
voice !  Her  own  beads  seemed  a  great 
deal  prettier  now.  That  is  true.  What- 
ever we  have  to  enjoy  has  twice  the 
beauty  and  value  in  our  eyes  when  we 
share  it  with  some  body  who  is  not  able 
to  get  it  otherwise.  If  any  body  tries  it, 
he  will  know  that  it  is  not  a  superstitious 
fancy,  but  a  glorious  reality. 

Mattie  slept  with  the  witch  and  beads 
under  her  pillow,  and  was  up  by  daylight 
to  look  at  them  again.  Poor  children  have 
so  few  playthings  that  they  have  very 
great  enjoyment  with  the  little  that  is 
given  them  ;  and  I  think  this  is  one  thing 
in  which  God  has  made  the  rich  and  the 
poor  equal.  The  little  that  'the  poor  have 
is  as  great  in  its  worth  to  them  as  the 


108  MAT. 

much  that  comes  to  the  rich  and  palls 
upon  them  by  its  very  lavishness. 

Lily  hastened  home  with  Kent,  who  was 
sleepy,  and  wanted  his  little,  white  cot- 
bed,  and  Ruth  followed  with  a  face  beam- 
ing with  joy. 

Rob's  mother  had  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  was  looking  out  of  the  door,  as  her 
little  son  went  down  the  street.  She  did 
not  like  to  have  her  boys  out  late.  She 
thought  the  home-roof  to  be  the  best 
place  for  them  after  sunset. 

"  Is  May  homesick  ? "  she  asked,  as  he 
gave  his  sister's  present  and  message. 

"  Not  homesick,  mother ;  but  I  think 
she  wants  to  see  you  very  much.  I  should 
not  wonder  if  she  came  down  to-morrow 
for  a  little  while.  Grandmamma  will  bring 
her,  perhaps." 

"  It  is  such  a  pretty  little  gift ! "  she 
said,  as  she  took  the  perfume-box  from  the 
paper.  "  Mothers  like  to  be  remembered. 


ROB.  109 

I  shall  have  very  happy  thoughts  of  my 
dear  little  daughter  to-night,  as  I  lay  my 
head  upon  my  pillow." 

The  babe  put  out  its  hands  to  go  to 
Rob.  It  loved  its  big  brother  dearly, 
and  clung  to  him,  and  laughed  and 
crowed,  and  pulled  his  curly  hair  to  its 
heart's  content. 

"  Where  are  all  the  girls  ?  "  asked  Rob, 
as  mother  took  her  pet  again.  He  found 
them,  without  waiting  for  an  answer.  A 
whole  day  is  a  long  time  to  be  away  from 
home.  One  seems  to  think  great  doings 
have  come  to  pass,  when  one  has  been 
«nght  or  ten  hours  absent. 

"  Has  any  thing  happened  ? "  asked 
Rob,  as  he  met  half  a  dozen  young  people 
coming  in  from  the  barn,  flustered  and 
excited. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  oh,  yes  !  There  are  ten  lit- 
tle pigs  in  the  sty  ;  and  the  old  hen  has 
come  off  with  only  three  chickens  !  Four- 


110  MAY. 

teen  eggs  under  her,  and  only  three  chick- 
ens, Rob  !  Isn't  it  a  shame  ?  " 

"  Let's  go  and  see."  And  the  whole 
troop  went  off  to  poke  the  grunter,  and 
exclaim  over  her  "  beautiful  litter,"  and  to 
rouse  the  recreant  hen,  and  sec  the  three 
little,  yellow  heads  peeping  from  under  the 
wings,  between  the  feathers. 

"  Better  than  none  !  They're  as  cunning 
as  they  can  be,"  said  Rob.  of  the  scanty 
brood.  It  is  wisdom  to  make  the  best  of 
mischance. 

Mother  called  her  brood  from  the  back 
door.  "  Saturday  night,"  she  said,  "  and 
such  a  general  bathing  yet  to  be  done. 
Come,  children.  I  want  }rou  younger  ones 
early  in  bed  ;  you  must  be  up  in  time  for 
Sunday-school,  you  know." 

May  had  watched  her  brother  and  her 
cousins  from  her  grandmother's  gate  until 
they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  had 
gone  in-doors  to  read  the  evening  psalms 


ROB.  Ill 

to  grandmother,  before  she  should  be  too 
weary  to  take  the  full  sense  of  them.  She 
missed  her  little  companions  very  much, 
but  somehow  she  liked  now  and  then 
to  be  alone  with  older  people.  Grand- 
mamma was  better  company  than  any 
body  in  the  world,  so  May  thought ;  and 
grandpapa  petted  her  so  kindly,  and 
stooped  ?o  gently  to  meet  her  small  capa- 
city, that  she  was  very  happy,  and  seldom 
wished  to  gc  home  except  to  see  if  mother 
and  all  the  family  were  just  as  she  had 
left  them,  and  then  s.^e  was  ready  to 
return  ami  lengthen  her  visit  at  gr-ud- 
mamma's1 


CHAPTER   XII. 

LORD'S-DAY   MORNING. 

THE  Lord's-day  sun  found  all  the 
windows  in  grandmamma's  house 
wide  open,  and  it  entered  with  the  per- 
fume of  the  sweet  brier  that  was  climb- 
ing up  to  peep  in,  and  the  honeysuckle, 
and  all  the  breath  of  the  flowers  that 
semed  passing  sweet  when  the  Sunday 
came  round. 

There  was  such  a  hush  over  the  village, 
a  holy  quiet  such  as  one  feels  when  he 
thinks  of  paradise.  There  was  no  sound 
of  rattling  wheels,  no  calling  of  voice  to 
voice  about  the  market  prices  of  worldly 
goods  ;  no  bustle  of  preparation  for  busi- 
ness, or  excursions  of  pleasure. 


LOKD'S-DAY  MORNING.  113 

The  vessels  lay  at  the  wharves  with  their 
sails  lashed  neatly  to  the  yards,  and  the 
water  made  a  soft,  pleasing  ripple  about 
their  keels.  Little  boats  were  anchored 
here  and  there  upon  the  placid  deep.  The 
birds  had  shaken  themselves  from  their 
sleep,  and,  bathed  in  the  early  dew,  were 
singing  their  Sunday  songs.  They  were 
ready  for  their  Sunday-school  long  before 
the  little  children  opened  their  eyes  to 
God's  beautiful  light. 

In  the  old  apple-tree  near  May's  room 
a  bright  robin  sat  trilling  out  his  blith- 
est notes.  The  little  girl  heard  him  in 
her  dreams,  and  thought  it  was  angel 
music.  The  bird  cocked  its  head  and 
looked  through  the  leaves,  past  a  greening 
that  was  growing  larger  and  larger  with 
every  hour's  ripening,  into  the  chamber 
where  the  child  lay.  He  liked  the  pretty 
rpom  with  its  wall-paper  of  vines  and 
flowers ;  leaves  creeping  up  to  reach 
8 


114  MAT. 

the  ceiling,  and  little  "  nosegigs,"  as  Dor- 
cas called  them,  of  carnations  and  rose- 
buds tied  with  ribbon.  He  could  get  a 
fine  glance  of  every  thing  within  the  four 
walls.  The  oak  bedstead  with  the  thistle, 
and  gallipot,  and  acorn,  and  butter-biscuit 
on  the  posts  at  the  foot,  and  the  white 
counterpane  with  a  star  in  the  middle,  and 
the  wide  pillow  with  a  tumbled  brown 
head  and  a  rosy  cheek  upon  it.  There 
were  May's  Sunday-clothes  lying  over  the 
chair  by  the  bed-side,  —  a  neat,  white 
dress  and  blue  sash,  and  little  black  pru- 
nella boots.  The  closet  door  was  partly 
open,  and  there  hung  a  straw  hat  with  a 
blue  ribbon  around  the  crown,  and  a  par- 
asol to  keep  off  the  hot  summer  sun. 

The  robin  gave  a  loud,  loud  trill  as  he 
saw  the  brown  head  move  upon  the  pillow, 
and  the  heavy  lids  part  slowly  and  show 
the  blue  eyes.  So  May  knew,  as  she  saw 
the  old  apple-tree,  and  the  pretty  bird 


LORD  'S-D AY  MORNING.  115 

gazing  at  her  from  a  bough,  that  it  was 
not  yet  paradise,  nor  angel  music,  but  that 
if  she  would  have  the  next  best  thing, 
which  was  Sunday-school,  the  church,  and 
hymns  of  praise  and  holy  worship,  she 
must  be  up  and  dressed  and  ready  to  fol- 
low the  dear,  old  bell  when  it  should  ring 
cheerily  to  call  her. 

She  sprang  out  of  bed  at  once,  and  put 
her  head  out  of  the  window  to  take  a 
Sunday  breath.  The  air  was  delicious,  and 
worth  a  thousand  morning  naps. 

Grandmamma  was  walking  in  the  south 
garden,  and  talking  with  God.  May  knew 
what  she  was  about,  as  she  saw  her  face 
upturned  toward  the  heavens  with  such 
an  expression  of  peace  and  sweetness  upon 
it  as  only  the  holiest  communion  gives. 
Every  little  while  the  dear  old  lady  would 
stop  and  look  round  her  at  the  blue 
waters,  and  at  the  sunlight  sparkling 
every  where,  and  at  the  injects  flitting 


116  MAT. 

hither  and  thither.  Then  she  would  clasp 
her  hands  and  look  toward  the  skies 
again  with  a  wistful  face  that  said  plainly 
as  words  could  say,  "  I  have  found  Him,  — 
him  the  Author  of  all  this  glory !  Blessed 
be  his  holy  name  !  " 

May  knelt  by  the  window  and  said  her 
morning  prayer.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
could  bring  God  nearer  by  being  in  the 
open  air,  though  she  knew  very  well  that 
he  is  always  close  beside  those  who  call 
upon  him. 

She  asked  him  to  make  her  more  and 
more  thankful  for  his  loving  care,  that  had 
brought  her  to  the  beginning  of  so  beau- 
tiful and  holy  a  day,  and  to  keep  ,her  with- 
out sin  through  the  sacred  hours,  and  help 
her  to  improve  every  minute  to  his  glory. 
She  spoke  to  him  in  very  simple  words, 
such  as  any  little  child  would  say  to  its 
father.  "  I  thank  you  for  so  pretty  a  gift, 
and  I  hope  I  shall  be  very  good  and  make 


LORD  'S-DA  Y  HORNING.  117 

you  love  me."  And  to  be  sure  that  she 
had  forgotten  nothing  that  she  ought  to 
ask,  she  used  the  prayer  that  Jesus  taught 
his  disciples  ;  for  mamma  and  grandmam- 
ma had  often  said,  "  There  is  every  thing 
that  any  body  needs  in  this  prayer  of  our 
JxOrd  Jesus,  and  that  is  why  I  wish  you 
always  to  make  use  of  it  with  your  other 
devotions."  So  May  never  failed  to  sum  up 
her  petitions  with  the  Lord's  prayer,  and 
then  she  felt  there  was  nothing  more  to 
ask. 

Dorcas  had  a  great  deal  to  do,  and  was 
old  and  often  stiff  with  rheumatism,  and 
grandmamma  had  taught  the  children 
whenever  they  came  to  visit  her  to  make 
their  own  beds,  and  keep  their  room  in 
perfect  order ;  and  they  felt  a  certain 
pride  when  they  had  accomplished  this, 
especially  when  the  dear  old  lady  said, 
"  That  is  a  finely  shaped  bed,"  or,  "  I 
can  not  see  a  speck  of  dust  any  where  in 


1 18  MA  Y. 

the  room  ;  and  how  neat  the  drawers  and 
closets  are ! " 

Grandmamma  wanted  the  young  people 
to  form  such  habits  in  their  youth  as 
would  make  their  maturer  years  easy  and 
happy.  "  A  shiftless  woman  is  a  misery 
to  herself,  and  to  her  household,"  she  said. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  that  for  any  thing  in  the 
world,"  thought  May.  So  she  stripped 
the  bed,  and  hung  the  clothes  by  the 
window  to  air  ;  and  after  she  was  all  rea- 
dy, except  her  frock,  she  put  it  together 
again  before  she  went  down  stairs  this 
morning,  because  there  would  be  little  time 
after  breakfast  before  Sunday-school.  She 
and  grandmamma  had  their  pleasant  time 
in  the  garden,  and  May  spent  a  few  min- 
utes with  grandpapa  in  the  portico  before 
Dorcas  was  ready  with  her  hot  johnny- 
cake, —  hoe-cake,  she  called  it,  for  it  was 
made  in  the  old-fashioned  way,  and  baked 
before  the  fire.  Stoves  were  not  in  fashion 


LORD'S-DAY  MORNING.  119 

in  May's  time,  —  at  least,  not  at  May's 
grandmother's,  and  things  had  a  rare 
taste  then,  —  an  individual  taste.  One 
thing  did  not  get  the  smack  of  another,  as 
in  the  stove  where  every  thing  is  cooked. 

"  Going  to  church,  little  daughter  ?  " 
said  grandpapa  after  breakfast,  eyeing  the 
neat  figure  in  white  and  blue. 

"  Yes,  grandpapa." 

"  How  will  you  keep  your  eyes  open  all 
the  long  summer  morning  ? " 

"  Oh,  easy  enough.  I  never  go  to  sleep  ; 
and  if  I  do,  Mr.  Parsons  says  God  will  for- 
give me  sooner  for  sleeping  in  church 
than  for  staying  at  home  to  take  a  nap." 

"  Is  that  so  ?  Then  it  is  no  matter 
about  keeping  awake  to  hear  the  ser- 
mon ?  " 

Grandpapa  was  trying  to  puzzle  the  lit- 
le  girl,  but  she  recollected  the  minister' s 
words. 

"Yes,    it   is  matter   to   try,"    she   said 


120  MAT. 

"  Mr.  Parsons  told  us  that  God  would  not 
be  angry  with  us  if  we  tried  to  keep 
awake,  but  dropped  asleep  because  we 
were  tired  or  weak." 

"  He  did  not  mean,  then,  that  we  should 
arrange  our  cushions  comfortably,  and 
compose  ourselves  for  a  quiet  snooze,  like 
Mr.  Catsby  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Mr.  Catsby  seems  to  think 
church  is  his  bed-room,"  said  May. 

"  And  what  do  you  think,  little  girl  ?  " 

I  think  it  is  just  as  mamma  says,  that  it 
is  the  house  of  prayer,  and  the  gate  of  hea- 
ven. She  tells  us  that  we  go  there  to  meet 
God  and  the  angels,  and  that  if  we  learn  to 
love  his  holy  worship  on  earth  we  shall  be 
fitted  to  enjoy  heaven  and  the  presence  of 
the  good  and  just.  But  there  is  the  bell, 
grandpapa,  and  I  must  run  or  I  shall  be 
late." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE   SUNDAY-SCHOOL. 

r  I  "'HE  doctor  sat  thinking  long  after 
_I_  May  left  him.  His  newspaper  drop- 
ped from  his  hand,  and  he  held  his  specta- 
cles between  his  ringers.  He  did  not  enjoy 
Sabbath  worship  much.  He  had  allowed 
the  necessary  care  of  his  patients  to  keep 
him  from  many  a  service,  until  he  had 
gradually  grown  out  of  the  use  of  the 
means  of  grace.  The  child's  words  awoke 
him  to  tho  reflection,  "What  if  one  does 
learn  to  enjoy  these  things, — prayer  and 
praise,  and  communion  with  God,  and  with 
the  saints  here  below.  What  will  be  his 
position  when  he  is  taken  away  from 
earth  ?  Does  one  really  need  this  training, 


122  MAT. 

this  cultivation  of  the  spiritual  nature,  to 
fit  him  for  the  enjoyment  of  heaven  ? " 

He  had  to  corns  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  child  was  right,  and  that  a  mother's 
teachings  were  wise,  and  certain  guides 
when  she  founded  them  upo-i  the  princi- 
ples of  a  holy  Bible  faith.  "I  wish  I  had 
never  departed  from  the  simplicity  of  a 
child's  heart  ! "  said  the  doctor  to  him- 
self. "  A  little  child  that  trusts  and  obeys 
God's  word  without  reasoning  or  question- 
ing is  the  happiest  of  mortals." 

He  thought  he  had  said  it  quite  softly  ; 
but  grandmamma  heard  him  as  she  pas- 
sed through  the  long  entry,  and  it  made 
her  heart  leap  for  joy.  She  was  yearning 
so  much  for  his  salvation  ! 

May  went  over  the  bridge,  and  down 
the  long  main  street  to  the  right,  about 
half-way.  Then  she  could  have  turned  to 
the  left,  and  gone  along  a  green  lane,  and 
to  the  right  again,  and  along  another 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  123 

green  lane  until  she  reached  the  church  ; 
but  it  was  no  farther  to  go  a  few  steps 
down  the  street,  and  kiss  mother  and 
baby,  and  then  up  through  the  mulberry 
avenue  to  Sunday-school.  She  did  not 
stop  a  minute  to  think.  Mother  and  baby 
were  pulling  so  hard  at  her  heart-strings 
that  she  got  over  the  road  in  double-quick 
time. 

"  Oh,  there  is  sister  May  ! "  exclaimed  a 
glad  voice,  in  tones  that  could  only  come 
from  the  lips  of  a  mother.  She  was  speak- 
ing to  little  "puss,"  as  they  called  the 
baby,  though  its  name  was  Rebecca. 

"  The  children  have  just  gone  to  Sun- 
day-school through  the  garden,"  she  said, 
as  May  hugged  her  and  the  little  sister 
together.  "  I  am  so  delighted  to  see  you  ! 
But  you  must  not  stop  now,  for  the  bell 
will  not  ring  a  minute  longer.  You  will 
catch  your  brothers  and  sister  if  you  run 
fast." 


124  MAT. 

Rob  heard  May's  voice,  though  she  did 
not  call  very  loud.  The  children  had  been 
taught  that  all  noises  ought  to  be  subdued 
on  God's  holy  day,  and  it  jarred  upon  their 
ear  to  hear  a  boisterous  sound,  or  a  loud 
laugh  or  call. 

"  We've  got  ten  pigs  and  three  little 
chickens,"  whispered  Rob,  as  he  turned 
back  to  meet  her.  "  I'll  show  them  to  you 
after  church." 

The  home  news  could  not  be  kept  a 
minute.  All  the  children  had  to  repeat  it 
to  May,  as  they  reached  the  gate  where 
they  stood  waiting  for  her. 

"  Such  cunning  pigs  ! "  said  Emma. 

The  minister  coming  up  by  the  way 
of  the  lane  just  then  brought  their  minds 
away  from  pigs  and  chickens,  and  the 
little  ones  passed  through  the  gate  of 
their  father's  field  into  the  "gate  of 
heaven,"  which  May  had  been  talking  to 
grandpa  about. 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  125 

"  Have  you  learned  your  lesson  ? "  asked 
Helen,  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  stood  by 
May. 

"  Yes,  indeed.  Grandmamma  makes  me 
begin  Monday  morning,  and  read  it  over 
every  day,  and  by  Saturday  I  know  it  per- 
fectly. She  says  that  is  so  much  better 
than  to  leave  it  till  the  last  minute  to 
study  hard  and  worry  over." 

"  It  is  so  quiet  at  grandmamma's,"  said 
Helen  ;  "but  the  children  are  so  trouble- 
some at  home,  and  we  older  ones  have  so 
much  care  of  them,  that  I  had  not  much 
time  to  myself  for  study,  and  I  am  afraid 
I  don't  half  know  my  chapter." 

The  children  separated  and  went  to  the 
different  classes.  May  saw  Cousin  Lily 
across  the  gallery  in  Miss  Essie's  class, 
and  Ruth  was  on  the  seat  just  below  her 
sister,  and  Kent  behind  the  organ  in  the 
infant  class. 

There  was   a  disposition    to    nod   and 


126  MAT. 

beck  at  each  other,  but  Mr.  Parsons  rang 
the  little  bell  and  called  the  school  to 
prayer.  Then  the  young  voices  swelled 
through  the  old  church  and  out  into  the 
sunshine  and  up  toward  heaven,  in  the 
sweet  words, — 

"Saviour,  who  thy  flocks  art  feeding 
With  a  shepherd's  kindest  care, " 

and  nearly  all  the  children  had  the  reJ 
consciousness  that  they  were  in  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  and  that  he  was  pleased  whh 
their  heartfelt  worship. 

The  buzz  and  hum  of  the  Sunday-school 
were  the  most  delightful  melody  to  the 
good  minister.  He  watched  the  little 
heads  bent  over  the  Word  of  God,  and  the 
little  fingers  busily  turning  the  sacred 
leaves,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  joy. 

"Thank  God  for  the  Sunday-school!" 
he  said  to  his  Superintendent,  as  they 
stood  together  by  the  desk  looking  upon 
the  earnest  faces  of  teachers  and  scholar^ 


THE  SUNDAY-SCHOOL.  127 

"  It  is  here  that  the  true  foundation  of  a 
Christian  life  is  laid.  Home  is  the  right- 
ful place  for  earliest  religious  teaching,  but 
too  often  fathers  and  mothers  have  no 
care  for  the  souls  of  their  children.  The 
Sunday-school  supplies  this  want  to  such 
little  ones  as  have  no  other  Christian  nur- 
ture, and  to  such  as  have,  it  but  impres- 
ses the  home  instruction  more  deeply." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE    HOUSE    OF    GOD. 

WHEN  the  church-bell  rang,  May 
saw  her  grandmother  enter  the 
door  below,  and  walk  round  the  aisle  to 
the  square  pew  by  the  east  window.  She 
knelt  down  quietly,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  May  knew  that  she 
was  asking  God  to  bless  the  services  of 
the  day  to  her,  and  not  to  let  her  forget 
for  a  moment  his  holy  presence  in  his  holy 
temple.  The  little  girl  always  felt  the 
influence  of  grandmamma's  devout  spirit 
and  manner.  It  was  so  different  from  that 
of  most  people,  who  go  to  the  house  of 
God  as  if  it  were  some  place  of  amuse- 


THE  HOUSE    OF  GOD.  129 

raent,  where  one  can  chat  and  laugh  until 
the  performance  commences. 

How  nice  the  villagers  looked  in  their 
Sunday  attire !  It  was  pleasant  to  see 
them  come  in,  and  glide  away  to  their 
seats,  and  compose  themselves  for  wor- 
ship. 

Old  Aunt  Mason,  verging  towards  a 
hundred  years,  yet  strong  and  active,  and 
quick  to  obey  the  call  to  prayers.  Miss 
Natty,  with  her  simple,  Quakerly  garb, 
that  seemed  to  accord  so  well  with  her 
sweet,  placid  face.  May  loved  her  dearly, 
and  was  delighted  when  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  plain,  white  'kerchief  pinned 
over  the  bosom,  and  the  white  straw  bon- 
net, with  the  band  of  white  lutestring  that 
was  the  only  trimming.  She  followed  Miss 
Natty's  figure  until  it  reached  its  wonted 
corner,  and  her  eyes  dwelt  upon  the  kind, 

loving    face.      She    thought    Miss    Natty 
9 


130  MAY. 

would  make  a  beautiful  angel.  Little 
children  have  a  sort  of  worshipful  feeling 
towards  older  people  who  lead  saintly  lives. 
They  always  think  of  them  in  a  spiritual 
sense,  which  induces  the  sweetest  and 
best  kind  of  love  ;  —  the  love  that  is  based 
upon  the  highest  virtues,  and  so  has 
reason  to  reverence  and  exalt  the  object. 

How  the  good  people  sang  !  As  if  their 
very  souls  were  in  the  music,  and  in  the 
words  !  It  lifted  them  up  toward  the  skies, 
this  heartfelt  singing !  It  was  so  much  bet- 
ter than  great  art,  and  perfect  harmony. 
Every  thing  was  soulful  in  the  old  church 
where  little  May  went  on  the  Lord's  day  to 
pray  and  praise.  When  the  child  went  out 
from  the  hallowed  place,  holding  her 
grandmamma's  hand,  she  felt  as  if  they 
had  indeed  been  to  meet  the  King  of 
Glory ;  and  the  sunshine  that  lay  in  a 
great,  golden  flood  upon  the  door-step 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD.  131 

and  upon  the  grass,  seemed  as  if  it 
streamed  from  within,  and  were  part  of 
the  King's  brilliance. 

"  We  will  go  to  mother's  to  dinner,  and 
I  shall  be  near  for  the  afternoon  service," 
said  grandmamma.  "  I  suppose  you  want 
to  see  the  children  by  this  time  ? " 

That  was  exactly  what  May  was  wish- 
ing ;  for  however  dear  and  pleasant  it  was 
at  grandpapa's,  home  was  home,  and  noth- 
ing could  take  its  place  ;  and  to-day,  espe- 
cially, there  was  the  additional  attraction 
of  the  new  pigs  and  chickens. 

There  were  May  and  cousin  Lily,  Rob, 
and  Helen,  Emma,  Harry  and  Louise, 
and  Carrie  —  such  a  pretty  company  go- 
ing down  the  Mulberry  avenue.  Grand- 
mamma looked  upon  them  with  pride. 
She  felt  quite  important,  heading  the  little 
troop.  Father  stopped  to  fasten  the  gate. 
It  was  apt  to  swing  upon  its  hinges  and 
let  in  the  stray  cattle,  that  liked  the 


132  MAY. 

church-lane  grass,  and  were  always  graz- 
ing there,  ready  to  trespass  upon  the 
adjoining  corn-fields,  if  an  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself. 

May  was  in  state.  She  was  a  guest 
as  well  as  grandmamma,  and  was  made 
much  of,  and  escorted  to  the  pig-pen  and 
hen-coop,  before  she  could  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  eating.  She  was  in  ecstacies  over 
the  new-comers.  "  God  makes  such  beau- 
tiful creatures,"  she  said,  as  she  watched 
the  ten  little  pigs  poking  their  little  pink 
snouts  into  the  old  grunter's  sides,  and 
saw  the  three  chickens  running  around  the 
mother  hen. 

" '  He  multiplieth  them  exceedingly, 
and  sufFereth  not  their  cattle  to  de- 
crease,' "  said  grandmamma,  who  was  a 
child  among  children  in  her  love  of  young 
animals.  She  had  always  some  appropri- 
ate Scripture  passage  in  her  mind  for 
every  occasion.  It  was  not  brought  in  ab- 


THE  HOUSE    )F  GOD.  333 

ruptly  or  irreverently,  but  while  she  stood 
thinking,  and  when  there  was  a  proper 
time,  and  every  body  seemed  ready  for  just 
such  precious  pearls  as  she  cast  before 
them. 

"  It  was  almost  like  preaching,  to  have 
her  come  on  Sundays,"  mother  said.  "  She 
brought  a  gospel  with  her,  and  made  those 
who  had  to  stay  at  home  with  baby  miss 
less  the  great  feast  that  was  spread  at 
the  church."  She  was  thankful  to  get 
such  crumbs  as  grandmamma  brought 
from  the  Master's  table. 

Grandpapa  came  down  to  afternoon  ser- 
vice, and  stopped  at  mother's  to  pet  the 
children  for  a  while,  and  to  be  one  of  the 
little  party  on  the  way  to  church.  He 
never  felt  better  than  when  surrounded  by 
his  grandchildren.  "  It  makes  a  man  of 
consequence  in  the  world,  to  count  up  his 
childrens'  children,  as  I  can,"  he  said. 

"  '  A  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory  if 


134  MAY. 

it  is  found   in   the  way  of  righteousness/  " 
said  the  clergyman. 

May  looked  at  the  sunlight  that  fell 
upon  grandpapa's  brow,  and  he  caught  the 
child's  earnest,  thoughtful  expression.  The 
warmth  of  the  sun  was  a  little  oppressive, 
but  he  would  not  move  away  from  the 
rays  just  then.  They  seemed  to  him  a 
welcome  omen  that  God's  grace  would 
some  time  rest  upon  him  ;  for  although 
lie  was  not  a  Christian,  he  hoped  and 
expected  to  be  one  at  some  future  day, 
as  almost  every  body  does.  He  was 
willing  to  be  saved  if  God  would  save 
him  without  any  effort  of  his  own.  It 
was  such  striving,  such  a  continual  war- 
fare with  sin,  that  he  was  not  quite  ready 
to  take  up  the  weapons  and  enter  the 
combat. 

May  crept  closer  to  him,  and  put  her 
little  hand  in  his,  and  listened  attentively 
to  the  sermon.  It  was  such  as  a  child 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD.  135 

could  understand.  It  told  of  the  beauty 
of  a  godly  life  from  the  cradle  the  grave, 
when  the  old  man  may  look  back  to  his 
very  infancy  and  see  the  light  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  upon  the  whole  pathway  ;  never 
shut  off,  although  here  and  there  slightly 
obscured  by  some  grievance  not  power- 
ful enough  to  darken  it  wholly. 

The  sermon  spoke  of  the  beautiful  fruit 
of  that  spirit  which  even  a  little  child  may 
bring  forth.  "  Love,  joy,  peace,  long-suf- 
fering, meekness,  gentleness,  goodness, 
faith,  and  temperance." 

May  set  to  thinking  whether  she  had 
shown  any  of  this  precious  fruit  to  day. 
It  was  a  happiness  to  remark  that  mother 
had  said  to  her  at  dinner,  when  she  denied 
herself  a  second  piece  of  pudding,  "  That 
is  my  temperate  little  girl ! "  And  when  she 
had  answered  lovingly  and  quietly  some 
rough  remark  of  Harry's,  her  .father  put 


136  MAY. 

his  hand  jipon  her  head  and  said,  "  Love 
and  meekness  are  very  sweet  virtues." 

She  knew  very  well,  that  without  help 
from  above  she  could  never  think  a  good 
thought,  nor  do  a  good  deed  ;  and  she  was 
glad  to  get  down  upon  her  knees  in  the 
corner  of  the  old-fashioned  pew,  as  the 
sermon  ended,  and  ask  for  this  help  to 
govern  and  sanctify  her  all  the  days  of  her 
life. 

"  Haven't  we  had  a  nice  day,  grand- 
papa ? "  she  asked,  as  they  reached  home 
and  took  their  favorite  seat  in  the  portico 
to  watch  the  sunset 

"  Tolerable,"  replied  the  doctor. 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  May.  "  No  more 
than  that  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  think  it's  been 
splendid ! "  . 

Then,  after  a  minute,  —  "I  should  like 
to  have  Sunday  last  always ;  shouldn't 
you  ?  It  will  in  heaven,  mother  says,  — 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD.  137 

that  is,  worship  and  praise,  and  the  things 
that  good  people  love  here.  Of  course 
people  must  be  good  before  they  can 
enjoy  it.  Sunday  is  such  a  dear  day ;  I 
love  it ! " 

No  body  could  doubt  little  May's  ear- 
nestness. Her  whole  face  was  a-glow,  and 
it  touched  her  grandfather's  heart  even 
more  than  the  sermon  had  done. 

The  twilight  came  gradually,  and  the 
twittering  of  the  birds  was  so  different 
from  that  of  the  early  dawn  ;  —  a  sober, 
dreamy,  lulling  sound,  with  none  of  the 
brightness  of  the  awakening ;  yet  very 
peaceful  and  satisfying  after  the  many 
events  of  the  day,  and  the  call  and  the 
need  for  rest.  It  is  sweet  to  lay  down  to 
sleep,  and  the  awakening  is  very  sweet 
also.  The  awakening,  I  mean,  when  we 
shall  see  God  in  his  glory. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

HELPING '  DORCAS. 

«  TV    /I"  AY  I  help  you  to-day  ? " 

J.VJL  Dorcas  was  in  her  element. 
Butter,  and  sugar,  and  eggs,  and  spices,  all 
around  her.  The  tin  oven  before  the  fire, 
and  the  iron  bake-kettle  over  it  upon  one 
of  the  crane-hooks,  and  such  a  large  bed 
of  live  coals  ready  to  heap  upon  the  cover 
when  needed.  She  had  on  a  neat,  clean, 
blue  homespun  dress  with  short  sleeves, 
and  her  fat  arms  protruding.  Her  turban 
was  just  from  the  ironing,  and  her  checked 
apron  showed  the  fresh  folds.  It  was  a 
great  day  with  Dorcas,  and  May  felt  it 
The  little  girl  was  very  meek  as  she  asked 
the  favor,  "  May  I  help  you  ?  "  for  some- 


HELPING  DORCAS.  139 

ames  Dorcas  had  moods  in  which  she 
would  not  allow  a  foot  in  her  kitchen 
until  the  cooking  was  accomplished.  There 
was  one  certain  indication  that  May  un- 
derstood. If  the  waist  of  Dorcas'  gown 
was  hitched  she  knew  what  to  expect ; 
but  to-day  it  was  pulled  smoothly  down, 
and  it  set  snugly  to  the  figure  ;  and  as  she 
noticed  that,  she  ventured  over  the  thresh- 
hold  ;  for  she  was  standing  in  the  little 
entry-way  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  with 
one  hand  on  the  knob  of  the  dining-room 
door.  There  was  a  refuge  within  that 
door,  with  grandmamma,  when,  all  else 
failed. 

"  Bring  your  rolling-pin." 

That  was  a  welcome  sound  ;  and  May 
took  the  little  roller  from  the  nail  in  the 
pantry,  and  Dorcas  made  room  for  her  at 
the  end  of  the  table. 

"  Is  it  hearts  and  rounds,  to-day  ?  " 
asked  May. 


140  MAT. 

"  No.  Loaf-cake,  with  plenty  of  plums 
in  it." 

"  May  I  beat  the  eggs  ? " 

"  You'll  spill  'em  all  over  your  apron." 

"I'll  be  careful,"  said  May.  "Don't 
you  think  it  is  time  I  learned  to  cook  ?  " 

"  Well,  maybe,"  said  Dorcas.  "  You 
an't  very  old  yet ;  but  I  could  put  a  cake 
together  before  I  was  nigh  as  tall  as  you 
be." 

"  You  were  a  smart  little  girl,"  said 
May. 

"  Your  grandmamma  taught  me." 

"Then   I   do    not   wonder,"  said    May 
"  Grandmamma    has    a    way    of   making 
every   body  smart.     I    should    not    know 
half  as  much  as  I  do  without  her." 

"  Your  ma  hasn't  time  to  bother  with 
you." 

"  I  don't  think  she'd  call  it  bothering," 
said  May.  "  She  goes  round  with  the  baby 
on  her  arm,  and  does  her  work  and  hears 


HELPING  DORCAS.  141 

our  lessons  all  at  once  ;  but  she  can't  take 
such  pains  to  teach  us  to  sew  and  to  cook 
as  grandmamma  can." 

"  No  ;  poor  cretur  !  Such  a  raft  of  young 
ones  !  "  said  Dorcas. 

"  Ten  of  them,"  said  May ;  her  mind 
intent  upon  the  pigs. 

Dorcas  did  not  hear.  She  was  intent 
upon  her  scales,  weighing  out  " gredences" 
as  she  called  ingredients,  or  the  different 
parts  of  any  compound.  The  raisins  had 
been  stoned  the  day  before,  and  it  did  not 
take  long  to  get  the  mixture  into  the  pan 
and  the  pan  into  the  bake-kettle  with  the 
blaze  underneath,  and  the  coals  and  hot 
ashes  on  the  cover.  .It  requires  great  skill 
to  temper  the  heat  properly ;  but  Dorcas 
had  had  long  experience,  and  better  bread 
never  came  from  any  oven  than  the 
bright,  brown  loaves  that  peeped  from  the 
old  iron  kettle  as  the  cover  was  raised. 

"  What's  in  the  tin  oven  ?  "  asked  May. 


142  MAY. 

"  That's  a  roast  for  dinner ;  it's  lamb, 
and  we're  to  have  peas  and  sparrer  grass." 

"  Can't  you  say  asparagus  ?  " 

"  It'll  taste  jest  as  good  'tother  way," 
said  Dorcas. 

"  But  if  there's  a  right  way,  we  ought  to 
try  to  get  it,  oughtn't  we  ?  " 

"  In  more  things  than  sparrer  grass  ;  — 
yes." 

Dorcas  had  the  dough  ready  for  cookies. 
She  cut  a  piece  as  big  as  a  turkey's  egg, 
and  gave  it  to  May. 

"  You  can  roll  it  thin,  and  cut  'em  out 
with  my  thimble,  and  I'll  bake  'em  for 
you." 

The  thimble  was  ^teel,  and  open  at 
the  top,  and  it  stood  on  the  window-sill 
close  by.  May  wiped  it  with  a  piece  of 
blotting-paper  that  was  beside  it,  and  then 
with  a  dish-towel,  and  cut  the  dough  that 
she  had  rolled.  She  put  her  tiny  cookies 
into  a  round  pie-pan,  and  sat  down  to 


HELPING  DORCAS.  143 

wait  till  they  were  baked.  They  puffed  up 
to  twice  their  original  size,  and  tasted  so 
much  better  for  the  hand  that  she  had  had 
in  the  making.  We  always  prize  most  that 
which  costs  us  some  personal  effort  and 
labor.  I  would  never  do  any  thing  for  a 
child  which  it  can  do  for  itself.  I  should 
wish  it  to  derive  the  greatest  possible 
pleasure  from  every  good,  and  that  can 
only  be  when  it  comes  to  know  and  use 
its  own  powers. 

"  You  can  peel  the  potatoes  for  me,  if 
you've  a  mind  to,"  said  Dorcas,  as  May 
had  finished  her  part  of  the  cookery,  and 
was  watching  the  putting  together  of 
apple-pies. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  any  thing,"  said  May.  "  I 
should  like  to  cook  if  I  could  only  be  as 
skillful  as  you  are  when  I  grow  up." 

"  You  might  be  skillfuller." 

"  More  skillful  ?  No,  I  don't  believe 
any  body  could  be." 


144  MAT. 

That  was  such  praise  that  it  kept  the 
old  negress  in  good  humor  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  May  might  have  ridden  upon  her 
head,  and  mashed  her  best  turban  after  it 
without  giving  her  offense. 

"  Don't  cut  away  quite  so  much  of  them 
pertaters,"  said  the  frugal  cook.  "It's 
wicked  to  waste." 

"  Yes  ;  I  know.  I'll  peel  the  next 
thinner.  What  beauties  they  are !  So 
long  and  pink  ! " 

Grandmamma  came  into  the  kitchen  at 
this  moment.  "  What  an  industrious  little 
girl ! "  she  said. 

"  I'm  helping  Dorcas." 

"  That's  right !  You  will  learn  to  be- 
come a  good  housekeeper.  What  are  you 
doing  now  ? " 

"  Peeling  potatoes  ;  —  see."  And  the 
child  held  up  a  long  pink-eye  that  was 
ready  for  the  steamer.  Dorcas  always 
steamed  her  potatoes  rather  than  boil 


HELPING  DORCAS.  145 

them.  "  They're  so  much  nicer  and  meal- 
ier," she  said. 

"I  wonder  what  people  did  without,  this 
vegetable  three  or  four  hundred  years 
ago  ?  "  said  grandmamma. 

May  looked  at  her  with  big  eyes. 

"  Hasn't  every  body  always  eaten  pota- 
toes ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  no.  In  South  America  the  po- 
tato grows  wild,  and  from  that  country  it 
has  been  introduced  into  other  parts  of  the 
world.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  found  it  in  our 
Virginia,  and  carried  it  to  England,  where 
it  was  at  first  cultivated  in  gardens  as  a 
curiosity.  You  know  what  a  pretty  blos- 
som it  has  ? " 

"  Yes ;  and  pretty  little  clusters  of 
green  seed-balls.  Rob  and  the  children 
and  I  play  with  them,  and  string  them 
for  necklaces." 

"We  plant  the  tubers   rather  than  the 

seeds,"  said  grandmamma,  "because  they 
10 


146  MAT. 

produce  fruit  at  once,  while  it  takes  three 
years  for  the  seed  to  bring  forth  tubers." 

May  knew  well  enough  what  grand- 
mamma meant  by  tubers.  "They  are  veg- 
etable roots,"  she  said  to  Dorcas ;  "  such  as 
this"  (holding  up  a  potato),  "and  onions, 
and  artichokes,  and  tulips,  and  dahlias, 
and  hyacinths,  and  such  things  ;  bulbs, 
you  know." 

"  People  did  not  learn  to  eat .  potatoes 
until  long  after  they  were  first  known," 
said  grandmamma.  "The  French,  partic- 
ularly, had  a  great  prejudice  against  them 
until  the  Revolution,  when  a  scarcity  of 
food  forced  them  to  live  upon  this  root, 
and  then  they  became  fond  of  it.  A  gen- 
tleman in  Ireland  had  a  present  of  some 
potatoes,  and  that  is  the  way  they  made 
their  entrance  into  that  country." 

"  The  Irish  live  almost  wholly  on  them, 
don't  they  grandmamma  ? " 

"  Pretty  nearly.     It  is  an  easy  vegetable 


HELPING  DORCAS.  147 

to  cultivate,  and  yields  a  large  increase, 
and  is  generally  cheap  and  nutritious  ;  so 
that  it  is  a  real  blessing  to  the  poor  as  well 
as  the  rich.  No  table  is  complete  without 
it.  The  Spaniards  call  it  '  ba-ta-ta',  '  of 
the  earth,'  and  the  French,  'pomme  de 
terre,'  'apple  of  the  earth,'  or  'ground 
apple.'  Come  to  think  of  it,  the  English 
have  only  eaten  it  for  about  two  hundred 
years.  It  was  not  sold  in  their  markets 
until  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  its 
introduction  to  the  country,  so  it  is  com- 
paratively a  new  vegetable  with  them  and 
with  us." 

Dorcas  cut  short  the  subject,  by  drop- 
ping the  tubers  into  the  steamer,  and 
sending  May  to  the  dining-room  to  lay 
the  cloth,  while  she  herself  had  a  little 
talk  with  her  mistress  concerning  Tom. 

"  I'm  worried  about  him,"  she  said, 
hitching  her  waist  almost  to  her  armpits. 

"  I  haven't  heern  a  word  yet.    I'm  afeerd 


148  MAY. 

them  icebergs  has  got  hold  on  him.     His 
capting  promised  to  write.     Tom's  all  I've 
got  in  this  world,  and  what  should  I  do  !  — 
what  should  I  do  " 

Dorcas  didn't  finish  her  sentence,  but 
broke  down  entirely,  and  hid  her  face  in 
her  checked  apron  to  have  a  good  cry. 

"He's  in  the  hand  of  the  Lord,"  said 
grandmamma.  "  It's  a  mighty  and  a  ten- 
der hand,  and  it  has  always  led  Tom  safely 
home  to  us,  has  it  not  ? " 

"  So  it  has,"  said  Dorcas,  brightening 
up  at  the  thought,  and  beaming  out  from 
behind  her  apron.  "  I  won't  think  nothin' 
more  on  it,  but  '11  leave  him  in  that  hand, 
bless  it !  It  always  has  fetched  him  home 
safe  ;  that's  true." 

"Who  is  that?  Tom?"  said  May; 
catching  the  last  sentence.  "  Oh,  he'll  be 
here  in  October,  when  the  frost  begins  to 
turn  the  leaves  all  sorts  of  beautiful  col- 
ors, and  the  nuts  shake  from  their  sheila 


HELPING  DORCAS.  149 

down    to  the  ground.     Only  two  months, 
Dorcas,  and  he'll  come." 

It  was  so  like  a  sure  prophecy  that 
Dorcas  was  jubilant,  and  trod  upon  air 
the  rest  of  the  day.  "Children  sees  so 
fur,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

VISIT    TO    SALLY    PAGAN. 

MAY  went  to  the  door  to  watch  for 
grandpapa.  He  was  pretty  cer- 
tain to  be  at  home  by  dinner-time,  unless 
some  urgent  case  kept  him  away ;  and 
there  was  not  much  severe  illness  just 
now. 

"  There  he  comes,"  she  said,  as  Dorcas 
was  dishing  the  peas  and  the  "sparrar 
grass."  "  He  likes  his  dinner  piping 
hot." 

Grandpapa  called  to  her  from  the  gate, 
where  he  had  stopped.  "  Run,  get  this 
jug  of  milk,"  he  said.  "Aunt  Anstis 
handed  it  to  me  as  I  drove  by  her  house  ; 
and  here  are  pats  of  butter,  yellow  as  gold, 
and  sweet  as  can  be.  I'll  let  Roan  stand  in 


VISIT  TO  SALLY  FAG  AN.  151 

the  harness  and  eat  his  hay  outside  the 
barn,  for  I  must  go  to  see  little  Sally 
Fagan  after  dinner.  You  may  come  with 
me,  if  you  like." 

"I  should  like  it  dearly,  grandpapa/' 
said  May. 

Grandmamma  displayed  the  yellow  pats 
with  a  pretty  impress  upon  them.  "Aunt 
Anstis  is  so  thoughtful,"  she  said.  "  She 
is  always  sending  some  good  thing  to  her 
doctor." 

"  Doctors  are  the  next  best  to  minis- 
ters, an't  they,  grandmamma  ? "  asked 
May. 

"  If  they  are  Christian  men,  they  are 
almost  ministers  to  the  souls  as  well  as  to 
the  bodies  of  their  patients,  and  so  do  as 
much  as  clergymen,"  said  grandmamma. 
"  Doctors  gain  much  love ;  your  grand- 
father especially." 

"  I'm  glad  my  father's  a  minister,"  said 
May,  decided  in  her  own  mind  that  there 


152  MAY. 

was  a  glory  in  that  profession  that  noth- 
ing else  could  give  ;  "  but  if  not,  I  should 
like  him  to  be  a  doctor." 

She  almost  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
doctors  were  quite  equal  to  clergymen,  as 
she  noticed  grandpapa's  tenderness  at  the 
sick  beds,  after  dinner.  He  lifted  old  Mr. 
Ray  in  his  arms  as  if  he  were  a  baby, 
and  gave  him  his  cough-mixture,  and  put 
the  pillows  easier  under  his  head,  and 
wiped  the  moisture  very  gently  from  his 
brow,  and  fanned  him,  and  said  cheering 
words  to  him.  There  was  only  one  thing 
grandpapa  had  lacked,  and  that  was  the 
Gospel  message,  which  every  physician 
ought  to  be  abfe  to  speak  to  the  sick. 
This  he  had  not  received  into  his  own 
soul,  and  so  could  not  impart  it  to  others. 

Sally  Fagan  had  been  meddling  with 
the  swamp  sumach,  or  "dog-wood,"  and 
she  had  a  high  fever,  with  great,  red 
blotches  on  her  skin,  which  were  very  un- 


VISIT  TO  SALLY  FAGAN.  153 

comfortable.  The  poor  girl  tossed  upon 
her  bed  in  agony,  but  the  doctor  gave  her 
a  soothing  ointment  which  soon  allayed 
the  irritation. 

"  You  must  never  touch  strange  plants, 
or  berries,  or  blossoms,"  said  grandpapa 
to  May,  as  they  left  the  poisoned  girl. 

"  I've  handled  sumach  many  a  time," 
said  May,  "  and  it  never  poisoned  me." 

"  That's  another  sort,"  said  grandpapa. 
"There  are  several  varieties.  There  is  a 
kind  in  the  countries  about  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  branches  of  which  were  dried 
and  powdered,  and  used  by  the  ancients 
in  tanning  leather.  In  Sp^in  and  Italy 
they  prepare  the  black  morocco  with  this 
plant.  The  roots  contain  a  brown,  and  the 
bark  a  yellow  dye.  The  seeds  are  used 
before  meals  to  provoke  an  appetite.  Phy- 
sicians prescribe  both  leaves  and  seeds  in 
medicine  as  an  astringent  and  styptic." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  May. 


154  MAY. 

"  I  forgot  that  I  am  not  talking  to  my 
fellow-doctors.  Astringent  means  to  draw 
together,  or  to  bind ;  and  styptic  means 
the  same  thing,  only  more  so.  Styptic 
is  very  astringent." 

"  That  isn't  my  kind  of  sumach,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  though  yours  has  the  same 
properties.  Yours  grows  in  rocky  places, 
and  by  the  roadside,  and  has  seeds  like 
tiny  balls  of  crimson  velvet,  very  close 
together.  They  cultivate  it  in  the  Euro- 
opean  gardens  as  an  ornament.  The 
leaves  turn  the  same  beautiful  color  as  the 
berries,  before  they  fall  off  in  the  autumn, 
and  make  the  woods  seem  on  fire  as  the 
sun  streams  upon  them." 

"  I  know ;  I've  often  seen  it,"  said 
May. 

"  The  berries  dye  red,"  said  grandpapa  ; 
"  and  the  branches,  mixed  with  the  berries, 
afford  a  black,. -inky  tincture.  There  is 
also  another  species  on  the  Alleghany 


VISIT  TO  SALLY  FAG  AN.  155 

mountains,  and  in  the  Western  States, 
with  hairy,  red  berries.  It  is  a  low  shrub. 
The  Japanese  have  a  kind  that  furnish- 
es their  varnish.  This  oozes  from  the 
wounded  tree,  and  grows  black  and  thick 
when  exposed  to  the  air.  It  is  beautifully 
transparent  or  clear,  and  shows  every  vein 
of  the  wood  upon  which  it  is  put.  The 
Japanese  use  it  for  almost  every  thing ; 
even  their  tea-cups,  and  soup-dishes,  as 
well  as  the  woodwork  of  their  houses  and 
their  furniture." 

"  How  mucl^jj,  you  know,  grandpapa ! ' 
said  May.  "  I  hope  I  shall  know  half  as 
much,  when  I  come  to  be  as  old  as  you 
are  ;  —  If  I  come  to  be  as  old,  I  mean." 

"  Why  if,  little  daughter  ? " 

"  You  know  people  die  younger  than  I, 
sometimes,  and  nobody  is  sure  of  to- 
morrow, mamma  says." 

"  Do  you  always  think  ©f  that  ? " 

"  Not  always,  excepting  when  I  go  with 


/56  MAT. 

you  among  sick    people  ;  then   I  always 
remember." 

"  It  doesn't  make  you  unhappy  ? " 

"  Oh  no ;  why  should  it  ?  I  don't 
believe  any  thing  ever  could  make  me  very 
unhappy,  grandpapa.  Mamma  says  I  was 
born  under  a  rainbow,  and  shall  see  it  all 
my  life.  I  s'pose  she  means  because  I  am 
such-a  hopeful  little  girl." 

"  That's  the  best  spirit  to  have.  I  am 
glad  God  has  given  it  to  you  ;  it  is  better 
than  gold." 

"  So  mamma  says.  And  she  says  too,  that 
people  can  cultivate  it  by  trying  always 
to  look  at  the  brightest  side  of  things." 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  that," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Folks  often  make  their 
own  misery." 

Roan  stopped  at  a  cottage  by  the  road- 
side. 

"  He  seems  to  know  where  to  go,  as 
well  as  you  do,  grandpapa,"  said  May. 


VISIT  TO  SALLY  FAG  AN.  157 

"  Yes ;  he's  been  here  very  often  lately. 
The  baby's  quite  sick,  poor  little  thing  !  " 

The  mother  sat  on  the  doorstep,  holding 
the  child  on  a  pillow. 

"  It  can't  seem  to  get  a  breath  indoors, 
doctor,"  she  said.  "  Upon  the  whole,  I 
think  it  seems  a  trifle  better  to-day  than 
yesterday ;  but  it's  slow  work,  sometimes. 
I'm  afraid  it  can't  possibly  get  well." 

"All  things  are  possible." 

Grandpapa  said  that,  and  May  added, 
"  with  God,"  so  that  the  woman  heard  it, 
and  looked  up  at  her  with  a  quick,  glad 
glance. 

"  That  is  my  only  hope,"  she  said.  "  I 
know  he  can  raise  him  up ;  and  I  pray  to 
him  to  bless  the  use  of  the  medicine." 

The  baby  turned  such  a  languid  gaze 
toward  May.  Its  little  arms  hung  helpless 
by  its  side,  and  it  had  scarcely  any  flesh 
on  its  bones.  It  made  May  sorrowful  to 
see  it,  and  she  knelt  down  and  kissed  it 


158  MAY. 

softly,  while  a  tear  dropped  from  her  eye 
upon  its  forehead  ;  but  grandpapa  saw  a 
marked  improvement.  "  The  child  is  bet- 
ter," he  said,  "  We  shall  have  it  sprightly 
again  in  a  week  or  two." 

"  Please  God !  "  said  the  mother,  ear- 
nestly. 

All  these  things  were  sermons  to  the 
doctor,  though  the  preachers,  May  and 
the  woman,  and  the  sick  people,  did  not 
know  it.  He  was  thinking  over,  and  re- 
volving in  his  mind,  the  faith  and  the 
patience  and  the  trust  that  met  him  here 
and  there  as  good  angels  in  his  pathway  ; 
and  these  were  teaching  him,  and  leading 
him  gradually  to  a  like  trust  and  patience 
and  faith. 

Grandmamma's  time  of  gladness  was 
coming,  and  the  hour  of  May's  joy. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

GRANDPAPA'S  SICKNESS. 

THE  doctor's  patients  were  in  great 
trouble  ;  for  their  good  physician  was 
himself  sick,  and  old  Roan  stood  idle  in 
the  stable,  instead  of  trotting  up  to  the 
well-known  doors  to  leave  his  master  and 
the  medicine  chest,  or  saddle-bags.  The 
squirrels  sat  upon  the  stone-walls,  watch- 
ing in  vain  for  the  speckled  horse,  and 
wondering  what  in  the  world  had  become 
of  him,  and  how  long  it  would  be  before 
they  would  have  a  chance  to  flourish  their 
bushy  tails  in  honor  of  the  dear  old  man 
who  brought  blessing  and  healing  and  joy, 
along  with  him. 

Every  thing  on  the  roadside  seemed  to 
miss  the  clattering  hoofs,  and  the  rumbling 


160 


MAT. 


wheels,  and  the  voices  of  grandpapa  and 
little  May,  that  had  so  often  broken  the 
stillness.  The  trees  stretched  themselves 
over  the  fences  to  look  up  and  down  the 
road,  and  there  was  such  a  sighing  among 
the  leaves,  as  if  they  were  moaning  to 
each  other,  "  What  can  the  matter  be  ? " 
The  sick  people  tossed  upon  their  beds,  and 
thought  there  was  little  chance  for  them  if 
the  old  doctor  was  to  be  taken  away. 

But  God  did  not  mean  to  remove  him 
yet  from  his  work  on  earth.  He  only 
intended  to  teach  him  that  he  was  mortal, 
and  that  he  must  prepare  to  meet  his  hour 
of  departure. 

What  thoughts  grandpapa  had  on  his 
bed,  as  he  hovered  between  life  and  death, 
nobody  knew  ;  for  he  was  silent  on  that 
point.  Grandmama  and  May  hung  over 
his  pillow,  and  gave  tender  and  earnest 
prayers  to  God  for  the  precious  soul  that 
it  cost  so  much  to  redeem. 


GRANDPAPA'S  SICKNESS.  161 

Mr.  Parsons  came  often  and  sat  by  the 
bed-side,  and  talked  and  prayed  with  the 
sick  man,  and  read  short  messages  of  en- 
treaty from  the  Lord.  "  My  son,  give  me 
thine  heart."  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest."  "  Repent  and  be  baptized." 
"Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 
"  The  blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all 
sin."  "  Cease  to  do  evil,  and  learn  to  do 
good."  "  God  so  loved  the  world  that  he 
gave  his  only  begotten  Son,  that  whoso- 
ever believeth  in  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  eternal  life." 

The  minister  did  not  know  how  these 
things  would  be  received  ;  but  one  day  as 
he  sat  writing  in  his  study,  he  heard  a 
slight  tap  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  he,  and  the  latch  lifted 
and  little  May  stood  before  him. 

She  loved  the  good  clergyman  very 
much.  He  had  come  to  take  the  place  of 
11 


162  MAY. 

her  own  father,  whose  health  would  not 
allow  him  to  preach  any  more.  He  held 
out  his  hand  to  her  as  she  came  with 
a  glad  step  to  him. 

"  Grandpapa  wants  you.  He  has  asked 
for  you  ;  please  come,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  God  !  he  is  better  then,  and 
understands  fully  what  he  is  about !  " 

"  Oh  yes.  He  sat  up  for  a  half-hour  this 
morning,  and  looks  so  bright,  I  think  he'll 
get  well  now.  I  am  glad  for  the  sick  peo- 
ple !  They  love  him  so." 

"  I'll  go  with  you  at  once,  little  daugh- 
ter," said  the  good  man,  wiping  his  pen 
and  getting  his  hat. 

May  was  very  proud  to  walk  up  the 
street  holding  his  hand ;  and  not  only 
proud,  but  happy.  She  felt  the  sweetness 
of  the  holy  influence  that  must  flow  from 
the  presence  of  the  truly  righteous. 
The  little  children  every  where  spoke 
reverently  to  him,  and  every  body's  face 


GRANDPAPA'S  SICKNESS.  163 

wore  a  smile  of  pleasure,  as  they  received 
and  returned  his  greeting. 

"  That  man's  as  nigh  like  the  Master,  as 
well  could  be,"  said  Mr.  Holwell,  looking 
after  him  from  the  door  of  his  smithy 
with  a  red-hot  iron  in  his  hand. 

Grandpapa's  face  brightened  as  the 
minister  entered  his  room.  "  I'm  glad  to 
see  you,"  he  said. 

May  staid  outside  with  her  grand- 
mother. She  knew  that  she  would  be 
called,  if  wanted. 

It  was  the  doctor's  way  to  approach  a 
subject  at  once,  after  thinking  it  over  until 
his  own  mind  was  settled  about  it ;  and 
Mr.  Parsons  knew  that  the  Word  of  Life, 
spoken  from  time  to  time  when  the  sick 
man  had  lain  silent,  had  been  doing  its 
work  in  his  soul.  He  knew  this  the  mo- 
ment the  doctor  said,  "  I  have  sent  for  you 
to  ask  what  I  must  do  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian?" 


164  MAT. 

"'Believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and 
thou  shalt  be  saved,' "  said  the  minister. 
"  This  faith  implies  sorrow  for  sin  and  re- 
pentance of  it,  and  an  affectionate  accept- 
ence  of  Christ  as  our  Saviour  and  Lord. 
This  is  what  we  must  all  do,  if  we  would 
have  his  favor,  and  it  is  the  reasonable 
duty  of  all." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  doctor."  I  have 
been  learning  of  many  preachers,  —  my 
sick  people,  my  good  wife,  little  May,  and 
the  other  children.  It  needed  only  this  last 
preacher,  my  illness,  to  finish  the  lesson  so 
that  I  can  say  it  by  heart." 

"  Are  you  ready,  then,  to  accept  these 
terms  of  salvation  now  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  with  God's  help  I  will.  Pray  for 
me  that  I  may  do  it  rightly." 

The  clergyman  knelt  and  offered  a 
fervent  prayer,  in  which  grandpapa  joined 
heartily.  When  he  arose,  a  sweet  calm 
was  apparent  on  the  doctor's  face,  which 


GRANDPAPA'S  SICKNESS.  165 

showed  the  dawn  of  peace  within,  that 
peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing. 

As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  go  out, 
grandpapa  showed  to  the  world  his  new 
hope  by  publicly  uniting  with  the  church. 
It  was  a  joyful  time  not  only  to  him,  but 
to  many  of  the  people,  who  already  loved 
him  so  much  for  his  kindness  to  them  in 
sickness,  and  who  felt  that  he  was  bound 
to  them  by  new  ties  of  Christian  affection. 
They  felt  now,  more  than  ever,  how  true  it 
was,  as  the  minister  had  preached,  that 
"  the  hoary  head  is  a  crown  of  glory,  if  it 
be  found  in  the  way  of  righteousness." 

It  was  a  glad  day  when  the  doctor  was 
able  to  go  again  among  his  patients.  Plow 
many  weary  faces  were  brightened  as  they 
saw  him  once  more !  Even  the  old  chaise 
seemed  refreshed  as  he  got  into  it ;  and 
Roan  cut  so  many  antics,  that  nobody 
would  have  supposed  him  to  be  the  sam« 


166  MAY. 

dull,  old  horse,  but  for  the  spotted  coat  that, 
could  not  be  cast  off,  and  so  betrayed  him. 
He  whisked  his  long  tail,  and  pricked  up 
his  ears,  and  whinnied  for  very  gladness  ; 
and  he  made  such  leaps  over  the  road  that 
the  doctor's  round  of  visits  was  ended 
ever  so  much  sooner  than  usual,  and  he 
had  time  for  a  long  rest  in  the  afternoon, 
and  a  game  of  chess  with  grandmamma, 
and  a  walk  to  the  hill,  with  May,  and  a 
nice,  quiet  talk. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    WALK    TO    THE    HILL. 

THE  hill  was  a  lovely  green  slope,  not 
far  away  from  the  house,  steep  on 
one  side,  and  covered  with  trees  all  over, 
and  gently  declining  on  the  other  side, 
until  it  reached  the  water.  It  was  a  spot 
that  May  loved  above  all  others  in  the 
vicinity ;  it  was  so  green,  and  shady,  and 
still.  In  the  .spring-time  the  scent  of  violets 
perfumed  the  air,  and  the  green  grass  was 
thickly  studded  with  the  blue  flowers. 
Here  and  there  bright  May-pinks  greeted 
the  little  children  as  they  went  in  search 
of  wild-flowers  ;  and  from  some  of  the 
old  trees  swings  were  always  hanging  to 
invite  the  little  villagers. 


168  MAY. 

Grandpapa  spread  his  silk  handkerchief 
on  the  turf,  and  sat  down  with  May  beside 
him.  He  loved  his  grandchildren  with 
more  tenderness,  if  possible,  than  he  did 
his  own  children  when  they  were  little. 
Old  people  renew  their  own  childhood  in 
their  children's  children,  which  accounts 
for  the  peculiar  pleasure  they  have  in  their 
company. 

Two  little  boys  came  up  the  slope  from 
the  water-side.  They  had  been  pulling 
ground-nuts.  These  are  little  bits  of 
roots,  that  have  a  sweet  flavor,  and  the 
tops  are  like  narrow,  tough,  grass-blades. 
The  children  liked  the  nuts  very  much. 
The  boys  had  rolled  up  their  trousers  to 
prevent  their  getting  splashed  with  mud 
or  water.  They  carried  their  shoes  in  their 
hands,  and  their  stockings  were  left  at 
home  for  holiday  wear.  Their  faces  were 
glowing  with  health  and  good-humor. 

"  How   d'ye  do,  doctor  ? "  said  they,  as 


THE   WALK  TO   TEE  HILL.  169 

they  saw  who  it  was  that  was  sitting  under 
the  trees.  "  Have  some  ?  "  and  they  held 
out  the  only  treasure  they  had  to  offer. 

They  were  much  pleased  when  grand- 
papa and  May  helped  themselves.  It  is 
always  the  best  way  to  take  something  of 
what  little  children  present.  It  keeps  them 
in  the  good  habit  of  sharing  with  others. 
It  is  a  miserable  and  selfish  way  of  enjoy- 
ment to  have  any  good  alone.  Whatever 
we  get,  we  must  divide  with  somebody, 
if  we  wish  to  know  the  very  sweetness 
of  it. 

Sammy  and  James  Ash  had  a  smaller 
handful  of  ground-nuts,  to  be  sure,  but 
these  were  as  nice  again  as  they  ate  them 
in  company  with  the  doctor  and  May. 

"  How's  that  bump  ? "  asked  grandpapa, 
as  Sammy  sat  down  to  put  on  his  shoes. 
"  No  more  climbing  young  saplings,  when 
mother  has  forbidden,  eh  !  " 

Sammy  looked  up  with  a  bright  "  No, 


170  MAY. 

doctor ;  I  shall  never  disobey  my  father 
and  mother  again,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  got 
punished  enough  that  time." 

The  doctor  lifted  Sammy's  hair,  and 
showed  May  a  long  scar  near  the  temple. 

"  I  thought  that  would  finish  the  little 
fellow,"  said  he.  '* '  Twas  an  ugly  gash  ; 
but  a  good  Providence  saved  him.  We 
all  get  punished  when  we  do  wrong  ;  but 
God  is  very  merciful  and  loving,  and  often 
spares  us  when  we  deserve  the  utmost 
severity." 

"  Who's  that,  over  yonder  in  the  skiff  ?  " 
asked  May. 

There  was  a  narrow  inlet  from  the  bay, 
where  the  water  was  smooth  and  shallow, 
and  a  flat-bottomed  boat  was  pulled  up 
partly  upon  the  shore  ;  but  one  end  was  in 
the  water,  and  as  the  tide  was  coming  in, 
it  seemed  to  be  gradually  getting  the  skiff 
afloat.  A  little  child  of  three  years  old 
was  on  the  seat  playing  with  a  small  oar. 


THE   WALK  TO   TEE  HILL.  171 

She  could  not  lift  it,  though  she  was  trying 
with  all  her  little  strength. 

"  'Tis  Teeny's  baby ;  we  must  go  to  her," 
said  grandpapa.  "  I  wonder  what  Teeny 
means  by  letting  her  stray  away  down 
here  by  the  water.  The  little  thing  will 
be  drowned  by  and  by." 

Teeny  was  an  Irish  woman,  who  lived 
in  a  small  cottage  up  the  road,  and  took  in 
washing  for  her  living.  She  had  no 
wealth  but  this  one  baby  and  her  husband, 
who  was  off  with  Tom  at  the  fishing 
banks.  The  doctor  had  a  sort  of  affection 
for  her,  as  all  doctors  have  for  the  little 
creatures  that  look  at  them  with  their  first 
glance  in  this  life. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  little  one  ? " 
asked  he,  as  he  and  May  reached  the 
spot. 

"Teeny  do  see  papa,"  said  the  tiny 
specimen,  with  a  far-away  look  over  the 
water. 


172  MA  7. 

"  Rather  a  dangerous  experiment,  going 
to.  Newfoundland  in  that  boat,  and  with 
such  a  crew,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Suppose 
we  change  our  mind,  and  go  to  see 
mamma  ? " 

Teeny  did  not  like  to  put  aside  her 
original  plan.  She  was  bent  on  the  long 
voyage,  and  all  May's  and  grandpapa's 
coaxing  availed  nothing,  until  the  doctor 
diverted  her  mind  by  saying,  — "  I've  got 
something  in  my  pocket  for  you  when  we 
get  home.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

"Yet;  me  do." 

"Well,  get  on  the  old  horse,"  and  he 
held  out  his  cane,  which  Teeny  mounted 
and  rode  up  the -hill. 

Her  mother  had  just  missed  her,  and 
was  running  out  of  the  gate  with  a  most 
distressed  air,  when  she  met  the  little  one 
astride  the  silver-headed  horse,  with  the 
doctor  leading  the  animal,  and  May  walk- 
ing beside  it. 


THE   WALK  TO  THE  RILL,  173 

"  How  good  you  are,  doctor !  "  said  she. 

"  It  is  not  very  safe  to  let  such  a  little 
thing  wander  down  there  out  of  your 
sight,"  returned  the  doctor.  "  Last  week 
a  child  was  drowned  in  that  place.  What- 
ever you  do,  Teeny,  look  well  after  your 
child.  It  is  easier  to  keep  her  out  of 
danger,  and  within  the  boundaries  of 
home,  than  to  bring  her  back  when  she 
has  once  wandered  away." 

Grandpapa  spoke  gravely.  He  meant 
more  than  appeared  on  the  surface  of  his 
words.  He  knew  how  difficult  a  thing  it 
is  to  retrace  one's  steps  toward  that  dear 
Father,  and  that  dear  Home  whence  we 
all  stray  like  lost  sheep,  every  one  wander- 
ing in  his  own  way.  He  had  been  himself 
a  long  time  and  a  long  distance  from  this 
loving  Parent  and  this  beautiful  Home 
and  now  that  he  had  turned  his  face 
toward  them  again,  he  wanted  every 
body  who  had  not  yet  gone  away  to 


'   174  MAY. 

be  restrained  from  going  ;  especially  the 
little  children,  who  are  so  near  to  the 
Father's  heart. 

"  You  have  been  very  sick,  doctor  ?  " 
said  Teeny,  as  she  received  her  baby 
from  his  hands,  and  thanked  him  heartily 
for  his  kindness  and  care. 

"  Yes,  nigh  unto  death  ;  but  I  am  all 
right  now,  thank  God  ! " 

Teeny  had  never  heard  the  doctor 
speak  so  before.  She  could  not  see  that  he 
was  changed  in  more  senses  than  one. 
"All  right  now,"  meant  a  great  deal  to 
her.  She  told  Mrs.  Timmins,  her  neigh-* 
bor  across  the  road,  after  he  had  gone, 
that  "  the  doctor  was  as  nigh  right  before, 
as  could  be,  a'most,  but  it  was  a  blessed 
thing  that  he  was  all  right  now  !  " 

" '  All  right,'  means  when  we  love  God 
above  all  things,  and  do  whatever  we  think 
will  please  him,  isn't  it,  Grandpapa  ?  " 

"  Yes,  daughter." 


THE   WALK  TO  THE  HILL.  175' 

"  And  we  can  please  him  in  little  things 
as  well  as  in  great  ones  ? " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Was  that  the  reason  why  you  took 
care  of  Teeny's  little  girl,  and  led  her 
home  to  her  mother  ? " 

"  Common  humanity  would  lead  one  to 
rescue  a  little  child  from  danger,"  said  the 
doctor  ;  "  but  there  is  a  gospel  rule  for  all 
such  acts,  too." 

"  The  Golden  Rule,  you  mean  ?  '  What- 
soever ye  would  that  men  should  do  unto 
you,  do  ye  even  so  unto  them.' " 

"  That  is  the  rule  for  you  and  me,"  said 
grandpapa.  "  It  will  be  a  sure  help  in 
almost  every  difficulty.  People  always 
know  what  they  would  wish  for  them- 
selves, and  so  can  never  be  mistaken  in 
regard  to  their  duty  to  others." 

"  Grandmamma's  watching  for  us,"  said 
May.  "  How  bright  and  happy  she  looks  ! " 

Grandpapa  well  knew  the  cause  of  this. 


176  MAT. 

She  had  not  said  much  about  her  joy  at 
the  great  step  he  had  taken.  There  was 
no  need  to  say  anything.  He  could  read 
her  soul  in  her  face,  and  that  is  beautiful 
eloquence  when  one  speaks  to  the  dearest 
soul  in  all  the  world.  It  is  the  sort  of  elo- 
quence that  we  shall  have  in  the  other 
life,  I  think,  when  we  shall  "  know  even 
as  also  we  are  known." 

THE   END. 


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